


Bon Temps

by cincoflex



Category: NCIS: New Orleans
Genre: B&D in the Big Easy, Boy Scouts and their knots, Dwayne you need to get laid, F/M, Southern Goth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 55,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: While investigating the death of a petty officer, Dwayne Pride and the new assistant coroner find some connections.





	1. Chapter 1

Bon Temps

Loretta told me she’d finally found someone to assist her now that Sebastian was gone, and because I was preoccupied, I took that in without really processing it. She’d been through a lot of temps and I knew it was frustrating so the news she’d found someone was good, but not the foremost thing on my mind when I came in to check on our latest case. I was a lot more concerned about the cause of death for Petty Officer O’Malley, so when I stopped in, I was kinda focused on that.

“Loretta, what have you got?” I called, only to find myself looking at someone who was clearly not my coroner. Instead of a fancy hair bonnet topping a round confident woman, I was looking at someone taller, paler, and just as startled as I was.

The mysterious woman in hospital scrubs blinked at me, and pointed with a bloody scalpel to the office door. I glanced over just as it opened and Loretta came out, a file in her hands. “Dwayne. I see you’ve met our new assistant coroner, Doctor Simone Hiver.”

“Doctor,” I nodded. Would have offered a handshake but seeing as she had bloody gloves and a scalpel I shut that idea down. She smiled and nodded though. 

“Special Agent,” she responded in a contralto. When Loretta handed me the file I divided my time between the words on the page and the woman weighing organs, looking for an impression from both of ‘em.

Doctor Hiver: five seven; curvy as the china milkmaid figurine on my grandmother’s mantle and about as pale, with dark hair and freckles. Boorishly I let myself wonder how far those freckles went for a moment before getting back to the details about Petty Officer Oliver O’Malley. What I saw was confusing to say the least.

“Auto-erotic asphyxiation?” I looked at Loretta, who was clearly amused at my reaction.

“That was the initial hypothesis, but since the autopsy, I doubt it. While the young man was definitely asphyxiated, Simone here found other marks on the body that indicate he was bound by someone else.”

She moved to the table and pointed to the kid’s thumb; I could see the dark ring of a deep bruise around it but that didn’t make any sense. 

Then Doctor Hiver spoke up. “Thumb cuffs. He’s got marks on both hands. I believe he and another party were engaged in breath-play that got out of hand. Once this young man died, the other person panicked, un-cuffed him and dumped the body.”

“Breath play?” I had an idea but I wanted specifics.

“A form of erotic activity involving strangling as a means to intensify orgasmic response,” Doctor Hiver replied, smooth as cream. “If he’d been doing it to himself the thumb cuffs and scarf would have been at the scene and they weren’t. As it is, it would be damned difficult to do to _oneself_ in thumb cuffs.”

Loretta nodded. “We’ve found some older marks as well, so he’s been involved in this . . . activity for a while. The other participant is probably hoping we’ll call it self-induced manslaughter and leave it at that, but that’s not the case.”

I sighed. “No it is not. All right, we’ll have to look up his associates and see what we can find about his last twenty-four hours. Ladies, thank you.”

As I left it dawned on me that china milkmaid seemed to know a lot about bondage. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

*** *** ***

It might have been a simple case of a kink gone too far, but the fact that O’Malley had been assigned to the Naval Intelligence relay station brought the hair up on the back of my neck. LaSalle was of a mind that someone might have tortured the man, which seemed a possibility, but a run of his credit cards showed that he’d spend a lot of time at a spot in the Warehouse district called Lys Noir.

“Club,” Sonja offered, looking a little embarrassed as she played with a pencil. “I hear they’re kind of goth.”

“Goth,” I repeated, looking from her to LaSalle, who was grinning.

“Like the Addams family, but serious about it. ‘Member that brunette scientist that works for Gibbs? Her sorta place—all spiders and coffins.”

“I’m sure they’re big on Marie Laveau too,” Sonja added, “Given _this_ city.”

“Well, someone’s gonna have to go down there and ask questions, and since both of you are a lot more informed on the place than I am . . . I’ll go see if anyone at the station knows anything.”

Gregorio was currently on vacation so I was on my own. The drive to the relay station didn’t take long, and the folks there needed more than the usual number of ID checks, but once I was in, I spoke to Lieutenant Thuc about the petty officer.

“Yes we got word about Oliver early this morning,” she told me as we walked down a hallway to her office. “Strangled . . . that’s just so weird.”

“Did he have any enemies?” I asked. “Anyone who might have had a grudge against him?”

Lieutenant Thuc hesitated long enough for me to sense an opening, so I added, “anything would help.”

“Well . . . he and Korveck didn’t get along much,” she admitted “Ensign Korveck. Mostly a conflict of personalities and I told both of them to get it straightened out. I thought they’d worked it through, but . . .” she shrugged.

“I’d like to talk to the ensign,” I told her, and she provided me with an address. Once I had it l looked around again. “Pretty small operation you’ve got.”

“Not much radio traffic in this age of digital communication and satellites,” Lieutenant Thuc sighed. “They’re shutting us down in the next two years; probably going to turn the facility over to FEMA.”

I gave a little murmur of commiseration and headed out again, heading to the address that I’d gotten.

As I drove I considered what I knew so far, and it didn’t seem to add up to much: a young man who was indulging in a dangerous proclivity working for an office that was closing down soon . . . on a whim I sent a text to Plame asking him to check on the closure date for the relay station as I pulled up to Ensign Korveck’s apartment. 

The ensign was looking like something the cat dragged in and the dog wouldn’t touch, frankly. The bright daylight made him squint, and by the smell of things he’d spent the night drinking something cheap.

“Is this about my speeding ticket?” he wanted to know, licking dry lips.

“No, it’s about Oliver O’Malley,” I watched him carefully and he flinched.

“What about him?” 

“He’s dead. Strangled,” I added. Ensign Korveck blinked and I knew he wasn’t faking his surprise.

“No sh--, I mean really, sir?”

“No shit,” I agreed. “Lieutenant Thuc mentioned that you’d had a disagreement with O’Malley.”

“No! At least, not the sort of thing to kill about,” Korveck yelped. “He kept wanting me to go to some club with him. Creepy place.”

“Lys Noir?” Now I _was_ onto something, I thought.

“Yeah. Not my scene,” the ensign made a face. “I’m not into it. But Oliver was, I guess. I turned his invites down and after that I found him snooping through my workstation! So I complained to the lieutenant and she told us to work it out.”

“Did you?” I wanted to know.

“Mostly,” Korveck shrugged. “He didn’t do it again as far as I know. Strangled, damn. I knew that place was bad news.”

“How so?” Given the responses I’d already gotten from my team I was curious to add to the collection.

“Just . . . not healthy,” Korveck shook his head. “Oliver talked about the girls there being dark angels. Weird as all get-out.”

That comment stuck with me on the drive back. _Weird as all get-out._

*** *** ***

After a lot of fruitless digging through the afternoon, I finally went back to the morgue.  
Nobody was in the autopsy bay, but I spotted Doctor Simone at one of the computer desks, so I cleared my throat to let her know I was there and she turned to look and nod. “Special Agent Pride?”

“Just call me Dwayne,” I returned. “I’m hoping you can tell me a little more about . . . thumb cuffs.”

Simple request, but an easy opening so I could find out more about O’Malley’s particular preference and maybe suss out exactly how it could end up in a murder. I’m no stranger to sex-related deaths, and this city has a reputation for some pretty exotic offerings but this was territory I hadn’t considered much before to be sure.

And I had a feeling this woman knew more about them than she was letting on.

She raised an eyebrow, and looked like she might smile, but didn’t. Instead, she fished in her desk drawer for a wide beige rubber band and then rose up and waved me over to the door of Loretta’s office.

“Please call me Simone then. Very well. Thumb cuffs are a simple way to restrain a person without being too uncomfortable or threatening,” she murmured. “I can create a facsimile with this. Hold out your hands, please.”

I did, watching as she looped the band around my thumbs in multiple figure eights. Snug, but not cutting off circulation as it were. I looked from my hands back to her and snorted. “Okay, this is more silly than facsimile.”

She did smile then, a sultry look that thumped me low in the belly, which should have been my first warning. “Possibly. There’s a coat hook on the door behind you, Dwayne. Raise your hands, back yourself up, and hook your thumbs on it.”

I hesitated. Her voice was softer, more coaxing now. Simone kept eye contact with me and I realized her eyes were the color of Spanish Moss, ringed with dark lashes. Slowly I followed her directions and fumbled a bit, managing to bump the hook and then lift my hands so that I could slide them down on either side of it behind me. 

The middle of the rubber band caught, and I realized that although the hook was a bit low I was definitely at a disadvantage now, with my flanks exposed and no quick way to either defend myself or take action. Just as I realized it, Simone smiled, cocking her head to one side.

“There you go. With a single rubber band I have you at my leisure, _mon bel homme._ I could do alllll sorts of acts on your person now without too much resistance on your part,” she cooed.

I’d started to sweat a bit. “I can get out of this,” I pointed out, not real pleased with the hint of shakiness in my voice. This particular shirt was on the short side and I knew I was exposing some skin nobody needed to see.

“Of course you can,” Simone agreed. “However, as your play partner, it would be up to me to make sure you didn’t want to, and likewise free you if there was any danger or misunderstanding.”

I latched onto this surprising concept. “So when doing something like this you—the other party-- have responsibility as well as control?” This idea was kind of bizarre, as was the way my body was acting. I knew it had been a long time since Rita’s last visit, with _last_ being the operative word now that she was engaged. We’d had good times but between her moving on and everything else I’d been celibate a tad longer than I’d realized. Or wanted to admit.

And my libido was letting me know I wasn’t off the hook, as the pun goes.

“Of course,” Simone replied, stepping closer. “This is a medium level of bondage, and if these were real thumb cuffs I would be checking your circulation between whatever else we, ah, would be doing.”

The minute she said that, all sorts of . . . extremely _vivid_ images rushed in to fill those blanks and I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to moan. Why in God’s name did I have to have such an active imagination right at this moment?

Before I could reply though, the autopsy bay door opened and Loretta lumbered in. She stared at us and God _knows_ what it must have looked like what with me hooked up like a tournament bass at a weighing station and Simone smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. 

Finally—

“Dwayne when I suggested you get a hobby,” she began, grinning as I fumbled to free myself. Simone was no help. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“Damn it Loretta, it’s _not_ what it looks like!” I protested but in my heart I knew I’d be hearing about this for the next couple of _years._

 _“Laissez les bon temps roulez?”_ she shot back, snickering. “You do realize I now have _prime_ blackmail material, Pride. Prime.”

“No, this really isn’t his fault,” Simone broke in firmly. “He was asking about thumb cuffs and I got a little too literal. One of the other points I wanted to make, though, is that your crime scene will have either hooks on the walls, or a more likely, a wire-frame bed.”

I managed to free myself from the door and worked the rubber band off my thumbs but there was nothing I could do about my red face or the tension all through my chest. “That’s more than we knew this morning anyway.”

Simone tried to apologize but I shook my head gruffly. “Forget it. I plan to.”

With what little dignity I had left, I took off, wanting to leave the whole incident behind and get this case over with as soon as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Easier said than done. I kept myself busy for the rest of the day but by the time I was ready to go to bed, my mind wanted to re-play that little moment against Loretta’s door in much more sensual detail.  
I’m not a saint and never claimed to be one. I know right from wrong; I’ve worked to be a good agent and father; tried to be a good husband and generally keep to the better side of my nature whenever possible.

Oh I have a temper that I work to keep under control, and I don’t tolerate fools too well either, but on the whole I’d like to think that what you see is what you get when it comes to Cassius and Marie’s boy here. I’m pretty straightforward.

So why was that weird little moment getting under my skin?

Anyone who’s ever been married knows that sex has a lotta flavors. There’s comfort sex and silly sex and drunk sex and ‘this is better than havin’ a fight’ sex along with hundreds of other variations. Linda and I plowed through our fair share of varieties, most of ‘em damned good as far as I could tell, but in all that time we didn’t go beyond conventionalities. Neither she nor I were interested in bringing other people in, or acting out plays in our bedroom, and we certainly weren’t about to tie each other up.

Even with the few women after my ex-wife, things were still . . . inside the lines.

But now I could still feel the rubber band around my thumbs without even closing my eyes. And the charge in the air between us, like the ozone right before a storm hits. I know I didn’t imagine it, either.

The hell? Was I going deviant in my old age? Even as I threw this question at myself I was already aroused and damned confused about it. This particular scenario had never been on my private shower playlist but as I stepped under the hot water, I knew good and well it was gonna be the one to get me off within the next few minutes.

Damn it.

And yeah, it did. Between the memory of those sage-green eyes and that seductive threat of having me at her leisure, I was already primed. Afterwards, I had to brace myself against the tile wall to catch my breath and stayed under the water until it got cool. 

\--oo00oo—

“Lys Noir wasn’t open when we stopped in, but we did get to leave word about comin’ back,” LaSalle told me. “It’s on Perdido and Clare, up north of the stadium. Real industrial on the outside.”

“Okay. We need to check out O’Malley’s residence as well,” I told my team after I’d swallowed my sip of coffee. “So let’s hit that first. Might be something there to give us a clue about . . . damned near anything at this point.”

We drove over to an address on Annunciation and into a little shotgun house on a row there. Sonja noted how clean it was, and that carried over into the living room as well. Neat, organized, and with that faint sort of lifeless scent to it. Once we got gloves on, LaSalle took the kitchen and I headed into the bedroom, feeling a strange sense of certainty that was borne out as I looked at the tidy bed. 

Wire frame. Just like Simone Hiver had predicted. I got close to the headboard and took a look; sure enough, the black paint had worn away on the two bars at the top middle of the frame. That kinda flaking comes from metal scraping metal and that meant those thumb cuffs most likely had done it.  
I looked at the spread—a cheap knockoff of a patchwork quilt—but I didn’t see any visible evidence of blood or any other fluid there. Then I opened the nightstand drawer just as Sonja came in.  
We blushed at the same time, which was a first, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from my job, and lifted out the first item: a rubber ball with straps on either side.

“Neighbors say he was quiet, and now I see why,” Sonja quipped, looking at the gag. I set it aside and pulled out a bottle of lubricant and under that, something that looked like a credit card made of grey foil. It didn’t have a name or numbers though, only a magnetic strip on the back, and the logo of a single slender flower on the front.

“Seen that before,” she nodded.

“Lys noir,” I agreed. “A black lily. Not exactly a coincidence.”

*** *** *** 

The manager of Lys Noir—Alden Moreno- wasn’t thrilled to see us, but he didn’t argue about talking to us either. He was a thin middle aged man with a ponytail with nothing particularly spooky to his appearance save some fingernail polish. We were ushered into a darkened empty club with heavy on the vampire décor, but nothing any more outrageous than other clubs in the city. I noted that there were industrial strength hooks on the walls, though.

“Wondering if you’ve seen this man here,” LaSalle had O’Malley’s photo out.

Moreno took a moment to look at it and didn’t answer right away, which was interesting. 

Businessmen fall into two categories: those who want to help us so we go away, and those who don’t want to help us so we go away. I got the feeling this was one of the former.

“I may have,” he finally said, still staring at the photo. “Is he in trouble?”

“He’s dead,” I told the man, “under suspicious circumstances so we’re interested in talking to anyone who he may have associated with here.”

Moreno didn’t flinch, like most folks do at hearing that news. “That’s unfortunate, yeah. As for associations, we’re fairly exclusive, so he would have to have been a member or a guest to get in.”

Sonja held up the card.

Moreno took it, walked to the podium near the door and swiped it through the machine there, looking at some read-out before glancing up at us. “Okay this is a lot more helpful than the photo. Oliver O’Malley, been a member for about a year, tended to rent out the Opium Den upstairs according to this. Vita’s gonna be upset; she liked him.”

“Opium Den?” LaSalle looked the way I felt, but Moreno shook his head.

“No opium; it’s the décor. All oriental, heavy on the incense. And yeah, we have a couple of party rooms we rent out upstairs. All legitimate.”

“Mind if we have a look?” I asked. This case was getting weirder by the moment and I felt that in for a penny, in for a pound sure applied. 

Moreno looked like he was going to object, but with a sigh he fished out a ring of keys and led us to an elevator that took us up to the second level. Things here were definitely a shade more ominous; with lower lighting and a vibe I didn’t like much. A few steps down the hall and Moreno stopped at a door, unlocking it, and pushing it open.

Bamboo/rattan on the walls with Chinese screen as well, and another wire framed day bed, this one with a fancy coverlet of embroidered silk. 

Also, a wall full of interesting . . . gear. I recognized the handcuffs, and the selection of gags was disturbing, but the paddles and quirts had me flinching just looking at them. LaSalle couldn’t stand still; he shifted around like a spooked cat, and Sonja was sort of frozen in place.

Moreno looked like he wanted to laugh but turned it into a cough. “I take it this is your first time seeing a consensual scene space,” he sighed.

“Looks more like a torture chamber,” LaSalle ventured, looking fascinated and disturbed. I’m sure my own expression was close to his. Sonja looked wary but not quite as . . . . judgmental. I made a note of that.

“Ever play football?” Moreno asked, looking at LaSalle. When he got a faint nod, the man continued. “Okay. Think back. Hard game; you go all out while the score bounces around, you’re taking hit after hit, but the adrenaline’s pumping right down to the last play with the crowds and your team and every second flashing by. You go for it; maybe it’s a Fleaflicker or a Hail Mary, but whatever it is, the damned play WORKS and suddenly you’re weightless, soaring right with that score and alllll the pain is worth it, right?”

I watched LaSalle nod again, slowly.

Moreno shrugged. “That’s what people chase here, man. That adrenaline/endorphin high. Focus, pain, release: same pattern, different game.”

I got it. Not sure LaSalle did, but he was workin’ on it. I turned to Moreno. “So O’Malley rented this room regularly? Was he alone?”

“No,” Moreno replied. “Sometimes he’d invite Vita—she’s one of my hostesses, and sometimes it was Kira. I suppose you’ll want to talk to them too?”

“You suppose right,” I assured him, giving the room one last look before we left, noting that there were bare spots on the painted bars of the day bed’s metal frame.

*** *** *** 

“I don’t get it,” LaSalle admitted, shaking his head. “I mean I got the analogy but still . . .” he tapped his temple. “Does not compute.”

“Different strokes,” Sonja mimed a whip, “for different folks?”

“Ha, ha,” he replied, but I saw him grin a bit before he looked at me. “What about you? Any of that make sense?”

“Old dog here,” I replied evasively. “So now it’s about finding the two women--" My phone buzzed and I checked it; Plame’s text dropped another piece into the puzzle.

_Relay station set to be sold in next six months. Private bidder pushing hard for it, digging for more the company._

Now things were focusing a bit, and after a bit of speculation, I sent my team out to talk to the Black Lily employees.

And I went back to the morgue.

I had to; I wasn’t going to let Loretta’s amusement keep me from my job, and I owed it to Simone Hiver to show her I wasn’t upset by what happened the previous day. If she was gonna be working with me and my team I had to step up and be the professional I always was.

When I got in, she and Loretta were having coffee together and laughing about something. Simone looked relaxed, and that changed the minute she spotted me; I could see her face tense up, so I held up a hand to placate her.

“I owe you an apology,” I told her, shooting a glance at Loretta. “Zoomed out of here yesterday feeling bad because I’d asked a question that you answered and didn’t let you know that I did in fact, appreciate the explanation.”

She blushed. That did interesting things to that pretty freckled complexion of hers as she gave me a tentative smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry for being so . . . literal in my explanation.”

“Demonstrative, even,” Loretta smiled. “Still, any breakthroughs?”

“Possibly.” I told them about the relay station and what I’d seen both at O’Malley’s home and Lys Noir as I watched Simone’s reactions. She nodded along with Loretta when I finished.

“Well if he was a patron of the club he probably had a partner there. Where was the body found again?”

“Bordeaux street. Lot closer to his home.”

Simone looked troubled. “Oooh, that suggests . . . a relationship. A more _personal_ relationship that is.”

Loretta gave her a questioning look. “Maybe I missed something but one would think that consensual asphyxiation would require a _very_ personal relationship.”

“Not always,” Simone replied. “You trust a surgeon but you’re not required to have a relationship with him or her. The factor is trust. Those women from the club build a clientele based on that trust, but they’re usually discouraged from relationships with clients.”

I looked at Loretta and saw the same question in her eyes, so I cleared my throat and asked it. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Simone looked wary. “Let’s say I have my sources and leave it at that, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

I’d be a flat-out liar if I said Simone’s words didn’t intrigue me. I could tell Loretta was a little interested too, but being a gentleman I let the matter drop and moved on to other topics. Loretta and I did most of the talking I noticed, with Simone listening to us and nodding.

Later, after knocking off for the day I looked up what information I could on Doctor Simone Hiver, for my own edification. First thing I found was that she wasn’t a local, which surprised me, given her solid French name. Apparently the woman was from Las Vegas of all places. Grew up there, had gone to school there for her degree, gotten married there too.

I was a little depressed finding that last fact up until I noticed that her status changed to ‘widowed’ on her New Orleans paperwork. That, I figured, could explain some of her demeanor. There were other details too but I didn’t dwell on them other than noting her professional qualifications and address.

A widow from Las Vegas with more than casual knowledge about . . . bondage. I wondered why she’d come to this city, and why she was a coroner instead of practicing medicine. I wondered if she had family, or a lover, and that sent me back to that interlude against Loretta’s door, which was starting to haunt me at odd moments.

She wasn’t my usual type. I tend to go for gals who are long and lanky; former debate team captains or high school athletes. Sort of a natural inclination and something I’d always been aware of. Simone Hiver was neither of those, so trying to figure out what made her stick in my mind was getting bothersome. Out of curiosity, I looked up what information I could on her husband, and that took an odd turn.

Hugo Hiver had been a well-respected cultural anthropologist apparently, who’d written books and done a lot of lecturing around the country. He had died of a brain tumor, but the interesting fact was that he’d also been thirty years older than his wife. Hiver has specialized in countercultures and subcultures, which was too highbrow a topic for me to tackle without sleep so I turned in, deliberately keeping my mind on more mundane matters.

\--oo00oo—

The connection between one of the hostesses at Lys Noir and a dummy corporation called General Communications Ltd made my morning. Apparently Vita Kerman, AKA Vita Kershov formerly of Lviv, Ukraine had been under orders to honeytrap O’Malley and gain as much technical information about the relay station prior to the sale. 

“General Communications has a string of corporate ownerships like those stacking dolls and they’re just about as Russian too,” LaSalle announced with satisfaction. “If they got ahold of the relay station there’d be any number of uses they could put it to, from Satellite relay interception to coastal surveillance.”

“So she found out about his interest in the club, and the breath . . . thing, and worked that angle,” Sonja jumped in. “And either she wasn’t as good as it as she needed to be, or maybe O’Malley panicked—either way, he ended up dead.”

“And dumped,” I sighed, “Okay, we need to go bring her in.”

That took some work; when we pulled up outside her residence she spotted us and took off, putting some distance until LaSalle got going and brought her down. Ms Kershov didn’t put up much of a fight, and teared up during the interrogation, pleading that the death was accidental despite everything.

“He was so sweet,” she sniffed. “So gentle. I never _meant_ to kill him.”

Had a feeling in my gut she meant it—she wouldn’t have been the first agent to actually fall for a target, and given the vulnerability and trust issues their connection would have been deeply personal, more so than just the sex. Still, it meant we could close the case, and let the Navy know they’d need to find a different buyer for the relay station when they eventually sold it. If they sold it that is—at this point they might want to hang onto it for a while longer.

Having things draw to a close so quickly put me in an expansive mood so I offered to make dinner, and made sure to invite Loretta and Simone as a thank-you. By the time I had the étouffée going everyone had shown up, and I was pleased hand off the wine to LaSalle to open. 

“Smells wonderful,” Loretta assured me. “Not that anything you’ve made has ever smelled otherwise, Dwayne.”

Simone was standing on her own, looking a little awkward so I waved her over and offered her a spoonful. “Give it a try?”

“You’re cooking,” she commented, looking at me in surprise.

I nodded. “Yep.”

Simone took in the spoonful and dear God the look of bliss on her face startled me, especially when she gave a little sigh. The sort of sound that goes straight to a man's gut, and lower.

“Magnifique,” she murmured.

Loretta spoke up. “He’s good at cooking,” she admitted, making me grin. “Among other domestic skills.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” Simone told us with a shrug. 

That got my attention and I tried not to stare, but something that bizarre deserved my attention. “You don’t . . . know how to cook? That can’t be true! I mean, come on-- _anyone_ can make mac and cheese, or throw together a chili!”

And the look on her face . . . it sort of went bleak for a moment—just enough to make me feel like crap as Simone shook her head.

“No. I never had anyone who could teach me.”

“Not even your mother?” Loretta asked, accepting a glass of wine from LaSalle, who offered some to us.

“Especially not her,” Simone murmured, and drank some of the wine while I went back to the pot and stirred.

“Not domestically inclined?” Loretta probed a bit, and Simone smiled, finally.

“No. My mother was a Folies Bergère showgirl who left Paris for Las Vegas in the early Fifties. Her skills were of a more exclusive variety and bypassed a lot of the standards, so to speak.”

Both LaSalle and I stared now, but he spoke before I did. “No kidding? A showgirl? Like one of those feathered-up gals prancing on stage?” he looked impressed and amused.

Simone nodded, and I saw she was a little pink in the face, although I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the comment that was bringing it out.

“Yes. The Sands; the Desert Inn; Stardust,” she shrugged. “My mother performed at all of them.”

“Wow, okay, that’s definitely not the typical upbringing,” Sonja murmured.

“No,” Simone replied and there was a hint of finality to it so I changed the subject, but I kept an eye on her through the meal. Again, she hardly spoke, but listened to everyone and everything. I noticed she ate all of her dinner, and when I’d bullied LaSalle and Sonja into clearing the table, I leaned closer and asked her a question.

“Would you mind helping me out by taking some leftovers? It’s too much for just me alone, and I’m already making a plate for Loretta to take as well. Doing another would a Godsend.”

She turned those sage-colored eyes my way, looking a little surprised and suspicious too, but I held her gaze until she very slowly nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Nothing sadder than neglected leftovers.”

She carried it out like it was a Christmas present, and I heard Loretta hum as we both watched her go.

“Feeding strays?” she teased. “I approve.”

“How did you come to hire her?” I asked out of curiosity. 

Loretta gave a sigh. “She came highly recommended from my friend Albert Robbins, and was willing to re-locate immediately, which is no small thing in this day and age. Thank you,” that last was for the foil-wrapped plate I’d given her.

“Not particularly talkative though,” I observed.

Loretta gave a chuckle. “Believe it or not, coroners aren’t always known for their social skills, Dwayne. Give her time to get comfortable here and we’ll see if she opens up.”

\--oo00oo—

A month went by, and with it we tackled a few more cases, most of them more along the mundane side of matters. I ended up passing Lys Noir at one point and wondered if the owner had hired someone to replace his lost Russian hostess, but other than that, didn’t dwell on the place too much. Gregorio returned from her vacation, accent thicker than ever, and LaSalle mentioned our case to her; she merely lifted one of those well-groomed eyebrows of hers. 

Hard to impress that woman sometimes.

I did stop by the morgue whenever a case brought me there, and ran into Simone a few times, working in tandem with Loretta, and she did seem to be a lot more comfortable on the job, even if it meant getting into a cadaver’s chest or skull as needed. I made it a point to greet her and engage in a little small talk whenever I saw her.

Didn’t tell her that I’d had thoughts about her that weren’t exactly of a pure nature though. Not that I ever would, but she’d started it with her damned rubber band and molasses voice. I’d given up trying to purge it from my head and kept it tamped down because at this age I don’t need any extra excuse for soul-searching. Between an ex-wife and a moody daughter I already had plenty on my plate to fret about.

I stopped in around dinner time with the full intention of asking Loretta about a casing found at the scene of our latest crime when the cloudburst hit. Rain is nothing uncommon in New Orleans and it’s more a matter of duck and cover once it hits this hard. Since it had been cloudy all day I wasn’t surprised in the least, and after driving through it, shook myself off as I walked carefully down the wet hall towards the morgue. Before I got there, the door opened, and Simone came out, umbrella at the ready. I called to her.

She looked up at me, and the turn of her body was enough to put her off-balance what with the slickness of the tiled floor. Twisting, Simone went down hard, knocking herself against the drinking fountain in the process. I got over there and helped her back up, but she was cradling her left arm and looking at me in faint surprise.

“I broke it,” Simone announced and I felt like shit.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, trying to steady her, surprised at how warm she was as I braced her with my arm around her back. “Let’s get you seen.”

Loretta had already gone home and Simone protested she could handle dealing with her arm on her own but I wasn’t having it, especially when I pointed out she wasn’t going to be able to drive by herself anyway. Took her in to Ocean Springs hospital and got her seen, waiting with her because when I asked if there was anybody she wanted me to call, the only person she mentioned was Loretta.

I suppose that’s the drawback of moving to a new city: you don’t have anyone close by for situations like this, and since I’d contributed to her accident I felt duty-bound to help out. When she came out with her arm in a new 3-d printer cast I checked her over.  
“I’m better,” she assured me, but I heard the stress in her voice.

“When did you last eat, gal?”

When she couldn’t answer me, I gave her a knowing look. “Figures. Look, let me take you home and we’ll get something into you. Some food,” I corrected myself because that had sounded a little too suggestive.

Simone looked up at me and sighed. “This wasn’t your fault and you don’t have to do this,” she told me. “But at the very least a ride home would help, so thank you, Dwayne. I can order some Chinese food when we get there.”

I wanted to argue, and figured it was pointless; she had a stubborn expression I was all too familiar with, having seen it on a other few faces before, so I just nodded. “All right.”


	4. Chapter 4

She gave me her address and I got her into the car along with the bag of prescriptions she had, driving a little more slowly because of the rain. We eventually arrived at a blue camel back shotgun in Gentilly, set back from the road a bit. We made it to the porch and I peered around the neighborhood while Simone unlocked the door and turned on the lights. Quiet place from the look of it. 

Once inside, we both sort of paused, and she laughed. First time I’d heard her do that and it relieved me; things couldn’t be too bad if Simone could chuckle.

“Let me get us a few towels,” she murmured. “I have a couple of menus in the kitchen if you want to consider what to order.”

I nodded, my attention on the living room. Comfortable neutral sofas, but the throw pillows were works of art done in flashy fabrics and patterns. Looked home-made. I was also drawn to the photos on the lowboy, well-aware I might not get a second chance to see them.

One was a snapshot of a showgirl all right, fancy spangles and mile-long legs. I judged it to be from the Sixties from the look of the Las Vegas background. Simone sure had her mother’s coloring but not the height. Next photo was of a trio of folks, and the middle one was Simone, who was probably about twelve in it. A hint of braces and long braids while her mother looked elegant in a fancy dress. 

The man with them . . . was Frank Sinatra.

“He was okay.” I turned and saw Simone looking at me and felt guilty, but she handed me a towel. “People ask me and the truth is, he wasn’t particularly good with kids. He liked me because of mom, and because I told him he should do a Christmas album.”

“Good advice.”

Simone smiled briefly. “We got free copies of the first pressing.”

I took the towel and did a quick pass over my head and shoulders, leaving it draped there. “Probably worth a good bit now.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “If you need to go . . .”

“Said I was going to make sure you ate,” I reminded her. “And I keep my word.”

She looked down and sighed. “Okay, menus are this way.”

I followed her into the kitchen and the first thing that struck me was how neat it was. Nothing out of place—hell, nothing out period. No coffeemaker or toaster or knife block. I didn’t even see dishtowels, which set off little alarm bells in the back of my head. Simone tugged open a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of paper—folded carryout menus.

“I like the orange chicken from Wonton William’s,” she told me as she handed the pages over, “but the China Castle has some pretty good appetizers.”

“Whatever you want,” I told her lightly. “I’m payin’.”

“Dwaaayne,” she looked at me mulishly, but I shook my head. Moving slowly, I took a hold of the refrigerator handle and opened it, peering inside. Two bottled waters, and a mesh bag or oranges were the only things in there in the empty whiteness. I’d had my suspicions but the reality stunned me. 

Straightening up, I opened a random cupboard to find precisely three cups. Most of the others were full of books. A little more desperately I checked the lower cabinets, looking for pots, pans, appliances . . . any sense of normality.

All empty.

When I turned to Simone, she was rose-faced, biting her lips. “Umm, as I told you. I don’t---”

“Cook,” I finished numbly. “Dear God, Simone this is---”

“Pathetic?” she supplied in a self-mocking tone. “Crazy even? Yes well I don’t remember inviting you to go prying around and I now I don’t really have much of an appetite, Agent Pride.” Her voice trembled a little, and I realized how badly I’d blundered here.

I took a step back. “I’m sorry,” I murmured quietly. “You’re right. I got nosy and there was absolutely no call for me to do what I did. You’ve got every _right_ to smack me on the nose with a rolled up newspaper at this point.”

A tiny corner of her mouth went up, but the rest of her expression was still sad. It hit me then, how badly I’d violated her privacy. I looked at the floor. “I’m an idiot more often than I should be, Simone and I apologize.”

I heard her sigh and risked looking up; she reached for the towel around my neck and pulled it off.

“Thank you,” Simone told me, “for acknowledging it anyway. I grew up . . . backstage. And one thing you don’t do there is cook. You sew; you play cards; you read or apply makeup but you don’t risk sets and costumes with open flames. So my mother didn’t learn to cook and I didn’t either. There were _always_ buffets and casino restaurants around so food wasn’t an issue, Dwayne. I’ve lived most of my life this way.”

“I see.” And I did, actually. Never thought about what it must have been like, but hearing her words made it a whole lot clearer. 

“And now after all this time . . . I’d look like an idiot, enrolling in some Home Ec course,” she continued ruefully. “A middle aged woman amid teenage girls. On the whole it would be easier to just keep doing what I do.”

“I don’t think anyone teaches Home Ec anymore,” I told her. “You’d need to go to culinary school, or . . .” I trailed off as the idea dawned on me. 

Simone caught on as well. “Or someone could teach me?” She laughed. “Not likely.”

“Hold on— _I_ could do it,” I found myself volunteering.

The look Simone gave me was hard to define; astonished, skeptical, and amused all tinged with wariness. It reminded me of certain cases, certain women who’ve been battered and had just been offered a chance of escape.

“Why?” She finally asked.

A hundred different responses rose up on the tip of my tongue, most of them glib, but I went for the most honest response I could; I owed her that. “Because you want to learn,” I told Simone. “I can see it in your face.”

“Yes,” she agreed, slowly, “but I meant, why _you_? I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than take the time to teach me something like this.”

I thought about that, flipping through the menus for a moment. “Well, I’m pretty good at it, for starters. Haven’t poisoned anyone yet.”

That got a smile as she leaned back against the counter. “Given that last meal . . . I divided the leftovers out so I could make it last. Three _great_ lunches.”

Genuine praise; it made me blush, and I grinned. “Thank you kindly but you’ve got the potential to do it too. I know you do.”

“More faith than fact,” she countered, her expression going a little sober now. “But I don’t want to be a charity project. I don’t want to be _pitied_ , Dwayne. You may be a Pride but I’ve got some of my own.”

I nodded slowly. “I understand. No rush to make a decision anyway, unless it’s about what you want to order here.”

We settled on the orange chicken, rice and some mixed vegetable dish, and while we waited I asked her for a tour of the place. Not a bad little house all told. The guest room turned out to hold a sewing machine and I spotted a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner so sewing clearly wasn’t just a hobby here and I said so.

“I do all right,” she shrugged. “Don’t have the patience or talent to make a living at it, but I _do_ make most of my own clothes.”

“It’s a handy skill,” I agreed. “Maybe we should trade off.”

“You want to learn to sew?” she giggled, and I was a little charmed by that.

“Well no, not particularly, but you’re probably good at a few other things, right?”

“Huh,” she mused, and just then the doorbell rang. I followed her back out to the living room and intercepted Simone’s attempt to pay; she gave me an exasperated look but I’m immune to those; Laurel’s training mostly.

We settled in around the coffee table and got everything distributed before she spoke again. “Well, not sure what else you might be interested in. I can show you how to parade across a stage and pose dramatically, I can give you basics on how to tap dance or belly dance, and do some simple magic tricks, or play nearly every variation of poker.”

“Is that a fact?” I grinned “More backstage training?”

“Growing up on the Vegas Strip training,” Simone countered. “Also, I can teach you how to keep a phone sex conversation going but I’m pretty sure that’s not quite what you’d consider a skill.”

I fumbled my chopsticks, feeling my face heat up. “What?”

“Summer job,” she told me, looking pink herself. “Paid better than being a blackjack dealer. Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m not always . . . good at conversation.”

“It’s all right,” I assured her, still slightly stunned, “although you are certainly full of surprises.”

“Maybe,” Simone stifled a yawn and I realized she probably needed rest, so when we’d finished eating I helped box the leftovers and let her show me out to the porch.

“Thank you,” she told me, nervously stroking her good hand over her cast. “I appreciate the help and the food, Dwayne. And the offer, silly as it is.”

“It’s not silly and it’s still open,” I assured her. “Think it over because I’m serious. Get some sleep now, and heal up, all right?”

She nodded and smiled; man it was a great smile. I waved and got in my car and drove off, feeling a little strange . . . but in a good way.

About halfway home I got a call from Loretta. “Yeah?”

“Dwayne, I’m looking at Simone’s records from her ER visit,” she began quietly. “There’s a notation on the X-ray that states her arm’s been broken before—at least twice, as well as her wrist.”


	5. Chapter 5

The news bothered me a lot. Partially because it hinted that there were darker parts of Simone’s past, and partially because there was no way to ask her about it without revealing that Loretta had looked at the X-rays. Abuse is a God-awful fact of life for too many women and kids in this world. I purely hate it and despise those who inflict it on the innocent. Part of why I do what I do is to stand up for victims of such crimes and it never sits well to know someone personally who’s been a victim.

I talked to Loretta who was sort of in the same boat in regards to both victims and talking to Simone. “I don’t know her well enough yet to get into that sort of conversation,” Loretta admitted to me quietly. “So far she’s been a real asset to the morgue, and while she may not have Sebastian’s head for technology, she’s picking things up quickly. Still, in terms of more personal conversation—that will take time. And trust.”

I nodded. “Goes both ways I guess. Still . . . we’ll keep an eye on her?”

Loretta smiled. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

And we did. For the next few months both Loretta and I made it a point of honor to do that. I didn’t see her at much, but when I did, I chatted, and always asked if she was ready to take me up on my offer.

“Maybe,” was her usual answer, but it wasn’t firm and Simone usually smiled when she said it.

“We’d start easy,” I coaxed her. “Shopping. Walk around one of the farmer’s markets, or a grocery store. Gotta know ingredients before you start to combine and prepare them.”

“I know ingredients,” she protested. “Sort of.”

“Water and oranges don’t count. I’m talking cheeses and meats and vegetables.” I teased lightly. “Something simple, like an omelet.”

Simone looked downright wistful and sensing that she was weakening, I added, “A cheese omelet has only three ingredients, you know. Fewer than the fingers on your hand.”

“I _love_ omelets,” she admitted in a shy little voice, and that was when I knew I had her.

I took her to Mimi’s Market the next Saturday, doing my best to be casual but pleased just the same. Most weekends I catch up on all the mundane parts of my life that aren’t nearly so glamorous---laundry and yard work and business details for the bar mostly—but I was able to clear time for this and it did my head good just to get out.

Seemed to be good for her as well; Simone had on a blue sleeveless sundress with flamingos on it, and looked like she was straight out of some Fifties magazine. I asked her if she’d made it herself and she told me yes she had.

“I’ll never be anything but curvy,” she sighed, “So I work with what I have.”

“Curvy works fine,” I assured her, meaning every word. Her freckles were on display now and I enjoyed the view, although I did try to be discreet about it. “Ready for the excitin’ world of grocery shopping?”

“Thrilled,” she giggled, and followed me into the store.

“Seeing how I needed to pick up a few things anyway, we’re combining errands,” I told Simone, handing her a list. “Got most of it memorized but just in case I miss something, here it is.”

“I doubt you will,” came her confident reply. We got a cart and strolled up and down the aisles, comparing our opinions about everything from peanut butter to wine and I was having a pretty good time when we headed down the one with the personal products in it. 

And I don’t mean soap or shampoo, either.

I quickened my pace a little, determined to get us out and around to the next aisle with a minimum of embarrassment but Simone stopped dead and I found myself nearly at the end when I realized I’d lost her, and slowly turned around, wondering what had caught her attention.

She was gazing at the rack of condoms in surprise, and I felt the heat radiating off my face when she reached out and touched one of the boxes. Turning, Simone blurted, “Oh good lord, do they still make _Bonne Nuit_ brand? I haven’t seen these since a few fell out of my mother’s make-up case thirty-five _years_ ago!”

“Ummm, apparently they do,” I offered after a pause, striving hard to sound objective, but it was damned difficult to do.

“Wow. I wonder if they’re still black . . .” she mused, and then, finally, catching herself, flushed a deep rose. “Oh.” Simone squeaked looking at me like a baby deer in headlights. Her hands flew to her face as I fought the urge to laugh.

Luckily she giggled first, spluttering as she moved one hand again to peek at me. “I am so _mortified_!”

“It’s all right,” I tried to reassure her, but I couldn’t help grinning myself at this point since we were well on our way to laughing.

“I mean I don’t buy condoms anymore now that that I can get decent party balloons and these were Mom’s brand . . .”

“Wait, what?” stared at her. “Party balloons?”

“For making balloon animals,” Simone chuckled. “The first ones I ever made I used condoms. Kids loved them. Parents either laughed or blushed.”

“You made _balloon animals_ out of _condoms_?” I looked towards heaven for strength and glanced back at her. “There’s more _to_ this story, isn’t there?”

We stood in the middle of the aisle, looking at each other and I felt a rush of genuine fondness for this quiet, clearly off-kilter woman.

“Simone smiled, and the dimple in her cheek deepened. “So Dwayne. . . is _this_ a skill you’d like to learn in trade for cooking lessons?” she asked me, poised to giggle again.

That’s when a perfectly evil idea hit me, and I reached past her to snag a few boxes of multicolored condoms. I tossed them into the basket. 

“You know what? _Yeah_.”

Simone watched me and I think she must have had a clue because neither of us said anything more about them, focusing on the rest of the shopping. 

When we were done I drove her to the office and proceeded with lesson number one.“Frying pan,” I held it up. “Cast iron is best, properly buttered up. You can get non-stick versions if you want but cast iron will never do you wrong.”

Simon sat on one of the kitchen stools and wonder of wonders, she had a pad out and was taking notes.

I held up a stick of butter. “Ingredient one: butter. Terrible for your arteries, but absolutely _vital_ for an omelet. We’re gonna put about two tablespoons in the pan and heat it up.”

Step-by-step I walked her through it, demonstrating how to crack an egg but when I picked up the whisk, Simone looked surprised.

“Is _that_ what that thing’s _used_ for?”

“Yes,” I told her. “What _else_ would it be for?” Of course the minute I said it, a few very unorthodox uses came to mind, and apparently they jived with her because she went pink again.

“Well, I’ve seen it applied to . . . things that _weren’t_ eggs,” Simone admitted. “Just . . . forget I said anything.”

Easier said than done, but I carried on, and in a little while we were sitting down to a pair of perfect steaming cheddar and chive omelets.

Simone’s was a little more scrambled but she was proud of it, and she had a right to be. She looked pleased, and gave a little sigh when we’d finished eating.

“It’s just a matter of steps,” she marveled. “Not hard, just involved.”

“Matter of practice too,” I reminded her. “You should do it a few more times and it will get easier and faster.”

Simone nodded, her expression hopeful. I nodded, and then fished one of the boxes of condoms out of the grocery bag, setting it in front of her.

She looked at me. “So now it’s _my_ turn to teach?”

I grinned. “I’m hoping for a few masterpieces. I think my team would appreciate a little something on each of their desks on Monday morning.”

That made Simone laugh, and that full-throated sound had me going as well. There’s something sexy about making a woman laugh; a sense of trust and shared humor of course but also a hint of passion too. What moves a person makes ‘em either cry or laugh and I’ll go for the laugh every time.

“You have a _wicked_ streak, Dwayne Pride,” she reminded me, and began tearing open a packet to reveal a bright red condom. “But fair’s fair.”

She brought it to her lips, blew hard, and with a complicated series of twists turned out a cute little bunny that I KNEW needed to be on Percy’s desk. All I could do was stare.

“How the _hell_ do you know what to do?” I finally asked.

She tossed me a condom. “Like cooking or sex: practice,” Simone advised. “It also doesn’t hurt to have someone good show you the ropes.”

Hearing that and handling condoms was not a safe combination but I put my mind on paying attention to her instructions.

And yes, it was a memorable Monday, for sure.


	6. Chapter 6

And so it went. We got into a routine, Simone and I—we’d choose a recipe, do the shopping and cook together on Saturday mornings. Got where I really looked forward to it because it was one of the few things that generally went right most of the time. I may not have succeeded during the week, and matters could go sideways and downhill Monday through Friday, but Saturday morning was becoming important to me.

The fun part was that Simone sorta blossomed too. During the week she was always dressed for the job, but on the weekends her wardrobe got . . . girlier. More skirts and scarves, and that made Saturday kinda nice as well. Ever since my divorce I’d lost track of appreciating things like that, frankly. I still shaved and made sure I had clean clothes but there were some moments when I missed the simple comfort of having a woman around. Not just the physical part—although that was always nice--but just for the day to day cheer of another face over the first cup of coffee.

So bit by bit we got to know each other, and I found myself telling her about my college days and dating Linda, about Laurel’s birth too. Maybe it was all the one on one time; maybe it was the fact that Simone was a great listener—whatever it was, it worked. She heard a lot more about me than I did about her, but I was workin’ on bringing the woman out of her shell.

“I was married,” she finally admitted to me while we practiced slicing vegetables a couple of months later. “It was . . . not particularly good.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I murmured while in my mind I thought back to the x-rays and what they’d showed. “Sometimes things don’t work out.”

Simone was quiet and I thought that might be the end of it, but she spoke up as she reached for a carrot. “It was . . . sort of an arrangement. Hugo was older, and more interested in having a hostess and housekeeper.”

I worked on the tomato in front of me, trying to keep my tone light. “And what were _you_ getting out of it?”

“Mostly in-home care for my mother, and tuition,” she replied in a sort of a flat tone. “It was all very civilized.”

Part of me hurt for her, hearing that. “Huh. That’s . . . okay, I guess. But yeah, doesn’t sound like it was a lot of fun.” We kept adding the vegetables to the broth that was simmering on the burner and I added a little pepper to it.

Simone gave a dry chuckle. “It wasn’t. Hugo could be . . . demanding, and impatient and . . . straight-laced.”

I understood the first two descriptors but the last one piqued my interest and I shot her a sidelong look, curious now. “Straight-laced?”

She didn’t meet my gaze but I watched the blush touch her cheeks. “Yes. Even though he spent his entire career studying various . . . cultural communities, he didn’t approve of them, or me. Never accepted that I . . .” Simone stopped and looked guarded.

I said nothing, giving her time even though I was definitely feeling nosy. The pause stretched out and I let it until finally she sighed. “That I’m a bit . . . kinky.”

Somehow this revelation didn’t surprise me as much as it might have, given all the clues, but it still sent a little jolt of heat through me. Putting on my game face I gave a nod. “That could be an issue . . . for _some_ people.”

She shrugged in a helpless sort of way. “It is for a _lot_ of people. _Most_ people in fact. And I’m not even sure why I told you except you’re fairly understanding and probably knew it to some degree.”

“I . . . suspected,” I admitted, reaching for the last onion and halving it before taking the papery ends off with my knife. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Simone turned and gave me a quick quirk of a smile. “Really?”

I was almost glib. Almost. But despite her bravado I felt she was testing me here and if I gave the wrong answer I’d be put into a box and labeled. I didn’t want that, not at all, so I took my time answering.  
“Really. Simone, some folks are left-handed. Most folks are right-handed. Just because I’m not left-handed myself doesn’t mean I can’t get along with those who are.”

I scooped up the onion I’d finished dicing and added it to the soup before turning up the heat and stirring it a little, giving her time to consider what I’d said.

“Thank you,” she finally murmured, bringing over the carrot coins, “I’m glad. Of course, it’s a little easier because we’re friends and not involved with each other. That helps.”

I made a little affirmative noise even though I felt a tiny pang of disappointment. Men and women can be friends; I know that. But peel back all the layers and there’s always a degree of attraction, at least on the guy’s side. It’s a guy thing, to be honest. Even with an old friend like Loretta there’s still a spark of acknowledgement that she’s a woman and I’m a man. I don’t dwell on it anymore than I dwell on it with Sonja or Tammy or any other woman I see on a day-to-day basis. Hard-wired I suppose but I’ve come to accept it as a part of male biology and leave it at that.

But Simone’s statement was a little bit of a jolt because I guess somewhere inside I hadn’t quite defined our status to myself. ‘Friends’ was the big general category, sure, but any other refinement was still in progress and I hadn’t yet settled on how I saw us. And that was a tiny revelation in itself right there.  
“That’s as may be, but I just want you to know that whatever . . . handed you are, Simone, it’s fine with me. No judgment.”

Got a smile for that, and she tipped her head. “Not even for freaking you out over the thumb cuffs?”

That caught me a little off-guard and I gripped the soup ladle a little tighter. “I wasn’t freaked out.”

“Actually,” Simone murmured, “You weren’t.”

I shot her a look as something flickered through me; some weird sense of agreement. “Being cuffed is not a _new_ experience for me, you know. I’ve done a lot of things in my time and being taken into custody is one of them.”

“A man with a reputation,” Simone came to look into the pot. “So people have told me.”

“In this case people are right,” I assured her. “Hand me that hot sauce please.”

So I fussed with the seasonings, partially because the soup needed it, and mostly to consider what to say next. I’m honest to a fault with other people, but I’ve been known to lie to myself, and I knew deep down that maybe I’d been doing that in a few aspects that Simone was picking up. I talk about darkness in people but it’s not always connected to evil, or being bad. Sometimes it’s just part of their nature that hasn’t been looked at too often or too closely.

Simone’s shoulder was almost up against mine, and I caught a little of her perfume. She gave me a sidelong look and smiled. “Almost ready.”

I knew she meant the soup, but for a moment the words seemed to mean something else. I cleared my throat, and before I could think about what I was saying I asked, “Tell me: what do you mean by kinky?”

Her lips pursed a bit but it was because she was trying not to laugh. “I knew that question was coming. All right. Kinky is everything you’ve ever fantasized about but knew your wife wouldn’t agree to do.”

That took a moment to process and I fought to stay calm because not only did that cover some interesting territory, it also left me conflicted. As I’ve said, my marriage had been a good one, or so I believed. Linda and I had pretty compatible appetites and even though Laurel was our only it wasn’t through lack of trying. But even with that, and the wild oats that came before it, and interludes after the divorce, there are some places that are strictly a man’s personal thoughts. 

And some of _them_ aren’t nice.

Knew I was blushing but I wasn’t going to say anything as I continued to stir the soup. Simone finally gave a little sigh. “And there it is. I’ve shocked you, or offended you and now we have walls up again. Maybe I should just go.”

“No.” It came out a little stronger than I intended; I looked at her and added, “I asked and you answered, so this is _all_ on me. Not really shocked, Simone. Just a little taken back, that’s all. Still a lot of range in that definition you know.”

She looked a little uncertain, but murmured, “True. And I’d like to add that not all of that is sexual. Kink covers more than that. It’s . . . a frame of mind. A deliberate practice.”

“A lifestyle?”

Simone winced. “I hate that particular word, Dwayne. It makes me think of photo-shoots of celebrity houses and vapid fads. How and what I choose to do are deeper concepts than that.”

“So why aren’t you . . . wearing black and skulls, that sort of thing?” I asked.

She laughed, taking the spoon from me and stirring the pot. “That’s Goth, which is another subculture. They’re not the same. Goths are a sort of stylistic choice and while I have the coloring for classic Goth, it’s not appealing to me. I deal with enough skulls at work as it is. Is this supposed to boil or just simmer?”

“Simmer,” I replied, and we shifted away from the pot after I’d turned down the burner. Simone moved back a little, but I followed her and leaned against the fridge. “Soup will take another twenty minutes minimum. If we had the time I’d simmer it for a few hours, but I don’t want to take your whole Saturday.”

She nodded, and ran a hand over her arm. Her cast was off now, but Simone had developed a habit of stroking her forearm. Or maybe she had it before and I hadn’t noticed. It pained me a little to see it, reminding me as it did of her injuries.

“Arm’s better?”

“Yep,” she stopped, self-consciously. “So what can I teach you in exchange for soup? Card tricks? Palm reading? Maybe all the words to _La Marseilles_?”

I smiled. “Nah. I’d like to learn more about kinkiness, to be honest.”

Simone looked away. “That . . . requires trust. If I tell you about it, I’m opening myself up to you with no guarantee that you won’t . . . use it against me. As I said, I’ve already told you more than I have to anyone in years, and the mainstream isn’t as accepting. One word to the wrong person at the coroner’s office and life there could become extremely . . . uncomfortable.”

I understood that. Trust is hard-mined and valuable. I don’t give it to just anyone and neither did Simone, but I wanted to prove I was worthy of hers so I fished into my back left pocket and pulled out my cuffs. Carefully I handed them to her and murmured, “Here. I’m willing to wear them if that will make you feel more comfortable while we talk.”

She wasn’t expecting _that_ ; no I’d surprised Simone but good. She hefted them and gave me an appraising look with those moss-colored eyes of hers, weighing them. Weighing the possibility. I forced myself to be patient and let her make the choice I hoped she’d make while the smell of spicy vegetable soup drifted around us.

Finally Simone gave a little nod.  
She motioned to the table and I sat down, holding out my hands, stretching them out while she clicked the cuffs onto each of my wrists. Simone had done it before; she didn’t hesitate and they were loose enough to be comfortable—as these things go. After she set the leather case down between my forearms, she did a strange thing: she took my hands and rubbed them as she sat across from me.

“All right. I want you to be comfortable, so the key’s right there where you can reach it at any point, Dwayne. I’m getting your circulation up so your hands don’t chill while we talk. So . . . kink. I’m sure you’ve heard of S and M, and possibly B and D, maybe even D and S, yes?”

Sadism and Masochism; Bondage and . . . Dungeons? Dungeons and Sex?” I ventured, all too aware of the cuffs and not sure I liked the sensation. She laughed.

“Sadism and Masochism. I’m not a part of that practice. B and D stands for Bondage and Discipline, which is more my kink, and D and S are Dominant and Subservient, which I’ve dabbled in as well. They can and often overlap, but they’re all practices on their own as well.”

Her fingers never stopped stroking my hands, warm and strong. You’d think it would be distracting, but somehow it fit with what she was sayin’ to me. “So you’re not a woman who enjoys pain?”

Simone raised an eyebrow. “Not to the S and M degree. I fall into the ‘erotic discomfort’ category. I do like sensations that keep me on edge. Little things like occasional tightlacing in a corset, or being spanked.” 

That hit home, figuratively speaking. The mental image of taking Simone over my lap and paddling her flickered for an instant through my head and I cleared my throat to get rid of it, but I didn’t fool her. She gave a chuckle. “No shame in responding, Dwayne; we’re all base creatures after all and you’re such an Alpha male.”

“Alpha male?” I’d been called a lot of things but this wasn’t one of them.

“Oh yes. LaSalle might posture and pose, but he and the others know who’s the boss around here,” she sweetly replied. “You have presence, Dwayne. ‘King’ might be a nickname but it’s apt. You know it down inside too, which is partially why you work at being gentle around women and young people. You don’t have anything to prove to anyone and that makes you . . . trustworthy. You don’t have to flaunt your masculine leadership. Makes you all the more attractive.”

Now I was blushing and fighting some responses of my own. Everyone likes a compliment and she was handing out more than I’d had in a long time. “Ahhh, thank you,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

Simone patted my hands. “So. I tend to be subservient. I like to be bossed around, although I can and do enjoy being the strong one now and again, depending on who I’m with and what we decide. That makes me, in the terminology, a switch. Double the opportunity, as it were.”

This caught my attention. “So people shift around in this?”

“Yes.”

“So back in the morgue . . .” I stammered, “Did that make me . . . ?”

“On the surface,” Simone began slowly, “You might have _thought_ that I was controlling you. But I was watching and waiting for your cues and clues, so even though you were . . . bound, _you_ had complete control of the situation, Dwayne. That’s the part all the shows and movies get wrong. The person being tied up—THEY are the ones in charge.”


	7. Chapter 7

That was a bit of a mind-blower. I blinked, trying to get my head around that, and not quite managing it. To her credit Simone was patient and gave me time to mull on the matter. I sighed. “That doesn’t seem like it should be . . . right.”

“The person tied up is the most vulnerable,” Simone pointed out. “Therefore they SHOULD be the one controlling the situation. That’s where the trust factor comes in.”

Her fingers curled around mine and I gripped them, marveling at the heat of the woman. She squeezed back, and gave a nod.

“You tell me—in words or gestures—what you want, and it is my sacred duty to take care of those desires,” Simone told me. “That’s how a properly done scene works.”

“Endorphins,” I remembered. “Focus; pain; release.”

Her smile bloomed and for a moment nothing else in the room registered for me. I understood.

Then Simone let go of my fingers and reached for the case, pulling out the keys. “Soup’s going to boil over,” she giggled, and undid the cuffs, letting them clank on the table. I slipped them off my wrists and turned, rising to get to the stove, going through the motions and feeling a strange lightness. I turned the heat off, waved away the spicy steam and reached for the bowls, ladling out enough for our lunch while Simon sliced a crusty baguette.

We ate. Good soup, for basic vegetables. Simone nodded and tried not to cough but I told her she’d get used to the peppers if we simmered it longer. We didn’t say much but I found myself watching her hands mostly, moving gracefully over the table and I almost missed her words when she did speak.

“I’m sorry I’m going to miss next Saturday,” she sighed. “I hope you don’t mind but it’s the only day for the tickets.”

I looked up. “Tickets?”

She nodded. “I’m going to the symphony. Mozart.”

“Sounds nice,” I murmured. “I don’t mind; you have a right to do things on your own.”

“Oh no, it’s a date,” she told me, stirring her soup. “He’s got season matinee tickets and I love Mozart performed live.”

“Oh.” That was about all I managed. “Well, have a good time. We can always pick up lessons another Saturday.”

We did the dishes and she took half of the leftovers as was our routine. I watched her go, feeling a strange little twist inside. I couldn’t be sure if it was because Simone was going out, or because I’d learned a lot more than I’d realized about her.

And myself.

*** *** ***

As weeks go it wasn’t the worst I’d had but it was in the top five. The case we were on—a missing lieutenant who’d disappeared with a briefcase full of security files—that was going nowhere. Percy and LaSalle had taken to pulling practical jokes on each other which got annoying real fast, especially with Gregorio complaining about it. On top of that Laurel had some credit card issues that she wanted me to straighten out over the phone which wasn’t practical or possible most of the time. And because of all that I was a bit more snappish than usual, which meant by late Friday I had three agents in sulky moods, a daughter who was putting my calls straight through to voicemail, and no damned luck in finding our missing man. I took myself to the morgue; not because we had a body, but I figured it would be safer to get myself out of that office and let everyone gripe without me.

Loretta was working on files when I came in, and shot me a knowing look. “Hard week?”

“And then some,” I sighed, glancing around to see if Simone was in. “No luck in locating Lieutenant Jankowitz OR his attaché case. Laurel’s on a ‘help me, don’t help me’ jag and on top of that, everyone in the office seems to have a bad case of rubber chickens and whoopie cushions.”

Loretta smirked. “Yes, that could get annoying.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” she admitted. “She’s not here, by the way.”

I tried not to look guilty but Loretta knew me pretty well and sighed. “Is this about Simone too?”

“No,” I muttered, feeling that was about eighty percent true, but Loretta wasn’t buying it.

“Dwayne . . .”

“Maybe a little. You know I’ve been giving her cooking lessons on Saturdays, right?”

“Yes,” Loretta nodded. “Enjoys them too, from the way she talks about them.”

That was gratifying to hear, and I smiled. “She’s a good student. Too bad she’s playing hooky this weekend.”

“Ahhh,” Loretta smiled. “The date. I should have guessed that would rankle a little.”

“I doesn’t,” I tried to protest. “Just . . . we got into a routine and . . ."

“And a break in routine is always a little annoying,” she finished. “Well if it’s any consolation I don’t think it’s as much about the gentleman as it is about the music.”

“Mozart,” I remembered. “She mentioned it.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Loretta nodded, looking at me just the way I didn’t need to be looked at. I made a face.

“You’re going to say something I don’t want to hear,” I deduced, “aren’t you?”

“Dwayne,” she began in that patient way of hers. “It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten close to anyone and it’s not easy. Maybe you need to be honest with yourself about what these Saturdays mean to you.”

“It’s not like that,” I protested but that wasn’t the entire truth either. Ever since Simone had cuffed me and held my hands I’d thought about that moment repeatedly. The warmth of her fingers, the sincerity of her voice, that strange . . . intimacy that she could create so easily. First the rubber band and now the cuffs . . . there was something about it all that was getting under my skin and I honestly didn’t know how I felt about it because it shifted whenever I brought it to mind.

In terms of the big picture, I like structure. I like knowing the chain of command; the routine of the day; the patterns of life. But I’d be a liar if I said I stuck with them all the time. I’d been known to go rogue now and again. Had a reputation for following hunches and chasing ghosts that I’d earned. I wasn’t the poster boy for ‘by the book’ procedures to be honest.

So maybe that’s why what Simone was talking about intrigued me a little. Not quite walking on the wild side, but not exactly turning my back on it either. The give and take of that trust appealed to me even as it spooked me a little.

While Loretta was only seeing the surface of things she’d earned the right of a long-standing friendship to nudge me a little and I sighed.

“I’m not ready for . . . anything,” I admitted. “Not yet.”

“No, but there are always baby steps and maybe this is one of them,” she murmured. “Just be careful. Simone is a good woman but not easy to draw out.”

“Shy,” I interpreted, and Loretta smiled.

“Shy. A little awkward. Which tells me she doesn’t socialize easily, or that she’s afraid to.”

I nodded. “Has she mentioned her husband?”

Now it was Loretta’s turn to make a face. “The late Professor Hiver, oh yes. I looked up his academic profile. Very dry research into cultural subsets. Looked up his medical records too. Brain tumors in the frontal lobe that would have made him hyper-aggressive over time. That could explain her broken arms and wrist—not that I know for certain.”

“That explains a few _other_ things as well,” I muttered as much to myself as Loretta. “Still, you’re right. Maybe I’m investing a little more of myself into these lessons than I thought.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Loretta assured me, patting my arm. “As long as you’re aware of it. You’re doing her a lot of good too.”

She got called away and I took off, feeling a little better myself. On a chance I texted Simone before I could talk myself out of it.

_Will be around Sat. evening just FYI. Hope Mozart is good. DP_

*** *** ***

Wonder of wonders I got a text back in the early afternoon, right as I finished cleaning off the grill. _Need your expert advice on cookware. Will pay for your expertise if we can shop tonight SH_

 _No payment necessary; flattery works just fine DP_ I texted back, grinning.


	8. Chapter 8

Simone and I ended up at Counter Productive which despite the name is one of the better shops for anything related to cooking. I had already talked to her about what I felt the basics should be, and she patiently pared that list down by two thirds, pointing out that she wasn’t planning on feeding multitudes or going into cooking as a profession.

It felt good to see her. She seemed to feel the same way, giving me a quick hug that left us both a little self-conscious. I hadn’t hugged Simone before, mostly because I’d been cautious about initiating things like that. I like to hug people and with my team it’s second-nature, but with women, and this particular woman it seemed better to let her start it.

Worth the wait, though. She pressed up against me and those curves fit in ways my body liked more than it should have. Caught a whiff of perfume as well and that added another layer of attraction to the process.

She pulled back and gave a shake of her head. “Figured you’d be giving me homework at some point so I’d better have the tools.”

“I will and you should, so good call,” I told her. “Shows initiative.”

“There’s a first,” Simone laughed.

She liked the ride, not fussing about the top being down, and when we got to Counter Productive got out with a shimmy move that was pure showgirl. I grinned and she gave me a wry look.

“Habit,” Simone told me. “Just a habit.”

Once inside I steered her to the cookware sets, my eye on a nice little collection of enameled pots and pans that I knew would be perfect as a starter set. They were pricey, but worth it; Simone watched as I pointed out some of the better features of the pans, and when she didn’t say anything I looked at her.  
“I don’t like yellow,” she told me. “Not for pans anyway. Do they come in another shade?”

At that moment a clerk tottered over. Round little woman with a grey bouffant and glasses on a chain around her neck. “Just starting out? How can I help you two lovebirds today?” came out thick as molasses.

“Oh, we’re not—” Simone began, but the woman continued.

“—because I’m authorized to give a thirty percent discount on everything here for newlyweds and engaged couples!” she chirped. “Just part of our store’s way of helping you all start off your new life with the best products!”

Simone and I exchanged a quick glance: the set was three hundred and a discount like that would bring it down considerably. Without a word we reached an agreement; I could tell by her amused little smirk.

“Well thank you so much,” I told the clerk, giving her my best smile. “The, ah, bride-to-be here wants to know if you’ve got this in another color.”

“Oh I believe we do, yes. If I recall rightly, this comes in a brick red and a hunter green. Let me check in the back.”

She headed off and Simone couldn’t stop a chuckle. “Dwayne Pride you are _shameless!”_

“For a full set of _Merveille du Chef_ at thirty percent off, yes—I can be _very_ shameless,” I freely admitted under my breath. “It’s not exactly a lie; in theory _any_ woman is a bride-to- _be_.” 

“Iffy,” she countered, but returned to a sweet smile when the clerk came back, beaming. 

“You two are in luck! I have both colors available so which would you like?” 

I looked at Simone, who was having trouble looking at me. “Up to you . . . . Suuuuugar,” I drawled, hoping I could make her laugh. 

“Oh the brick would be perfect . . . Puddin’,” she countered and I had to bite my lips not to laugh. Luckily the clerk didn’t see it, busy as she was with straightening the display. 

“All righty then! So how are you set for potholders and towels? On top of the thirty percent discount I do have a coupon that’s a buy one get one free!” 

“Potholders?” Simone hadn’t considered those but it made sense to get everything necessary in one trip, so I slipped an arm around her and smiled. 

“If we’re doing this, we might as well go whole hog . . . _mon ‘tite chou_.” I murmured. “After all, I don’t want you to burn your pretty fingers.” 

This close it was easy to breathe in her perfume and watch the flutter of her pulse along the side of her throat. Simone’s glance told me I would pay for laying it on so thick, but a twitch of her lips also showed she was having fun too. 

The clerk was overjoyed. “Well we have lots of pretty themes and colors that will go with your new pots! If you’ll just step this way . . .” 

In the end we picked up dish towels, pot holders, a blender and an assortment of tools that included a whisk and several spatulas that made her smirk. 

“So where did you two meet?” the clerk wanted to know as she toted our purchases to the counter near the register. 

“The morgue,” Simone answered without thinking. When the clerk looked up, wide-eyed, I gave her a comforting smile. 

“That’s what she calls her office,” I countered. “She caught my eye right away.” 

“True. He even held the door for me,” Simone added and I had to pretend to cough. 

“Well isn’t that sweet!” the clerk smiled. “Mannerly! That’s so rare these days. When’s the wedding?” 

“It’s hard to say,” Simone beat me to the punch. “You know how it is when you reach a certain point in life and everything’s a negotiation. Thank goodness my beau here is so patient.” She said it in a thoughtful way that made me look at her. 

And there was something there. I’d tried not to admit it before now but something in her smile made it clear to me that yes, Simone and I had some mutual attraction going. I smiled back, feeling both exhilarated and a little scared too. I don’t scare easily but that’s usually when it’s about physical dangers. When it comes to emotions, I’ve got fewer filters. 

“Well good for you then!” The clerk rang everything up and I insisted on paying, pleased with the discount and the quality of what we’d gotten. 

“Such a deal—he deserves a kiss for that!” the clerk told us cheerily. I hesitated but Simone seemed to agree, and pressed a warm quick one just against the corner of my mouth. I closed my eyes for a second, not wanting to move. 

Soft, sweet, and very much her. Oh I did like it. 

We picked up the bags, thanked the clerk and headed out to the car, both of us too shy to talk I suppose. I put everything in the trunk and Simone was already in the car, shaking her head. 

“So what’s the price?” she asked me. “I know you’re going to say I don’t need to pay you back because that’s the sort of man you are, Dwayne but I’m _not_ about to accept a gift like this without some sort of compensation to you.” 

She had me there, and I considered the matter. “Homework,” I told her. “You need to use these pans and make something for next Saturday. You’re good enough and smart enough to find a recipe, make it and bring it.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me,” Simone muttered, rolling her eyes. “A LOT.” 

“That I do,” I assured her. 

We arrived at her place just as the delivery van did; a burly man with a vase of roses looked at Simone. “Ms Hy-ver?” he asked, mangling her name enough to make me snort. 

“Ee-vair,” she corrected him and took the vase, signing for them with a sigh. I collected the bags from the car and followed her in, suspicious about the delivery. Color me surprised as hell when she stuffed the roses head first down the garbage disposal and turned it on, grinding the American Beauties into a bloody sludge. 

“Er, not fond of roses?” I ventured. 

“Not fond of them _or_ the sender,” she growled. It was the first time I’d heard true anger in her voice, which was all the more startling. “Roses are . . . over _rated_. My mother used to get them on a weekly basis and generally from the same type of men as this one. Men who think of them as the key to the bedroom; the passport of entitlement. Send a woman _roses_ and she’s supposed to open her knees for you . . . Bah!” 

“Who sent them?” I asked. My tone must have been firm; Simone gave me a wary look. 

“Dwayne . . .” she sighed. “Don’t worry; he’s just a pest.” 

“Pests have a habit of getting worse,” I told her. “Was this your date?” 

Simone nodded and tossed the mangled stems into the garbage can at the end of the counter. “Lyle Harrison. He’s a real estate magnate. We went to the concert today and he was a bit . . .” she shrugged, “overly familiar. I made it clear I wasn’t interested in him but it’s obvious he wasn’t listening.” 

“Maybe you should send the roses back,” I suggested. “I think that message would be unmistakable, especially the way they look _now_.” 

She burst into giggles at that. “Decapitated. That really would do it. Still, I think it’s about the particular flower as much as the man. I need to keep perspective on it all.” 

“Probably wise,” I admitted. I helped her unpack the cookware, and then it was time to go; I was due to tackle Laurel’s finances and didn’t really want to but part of being a dad is doing that sort of thing. Simone followed me out into the twilight and the streetlight outside her house came on, beckoning moths around it. 

“Thank you,” she told me. “I had . . . fun. And I appreciated your frugality, even if it was under false pretenses.” 

“What Counter Productive doesn’t know won’t hurt their bottom line,” I pointed out. “But if it helps you sleep better I’ll spend the difference on good ingredients for next Saturday. Feel like Oysters Bienville?” 

Simone arched an eyebrow. “Oysters sound amazing. I look forward to it, and I’ll bring . . . dessert?” 

“You _do_ that,” I agreed. It dawned on me that I wanted to kiss her very much, and like the moths above we were sort of drifting closer as I leaned against the car door. “Hey Simone—" 

She came forward a few steps, taking my hands. “Yes?” 

“If you hate roses, what flowers _do_ you like?” I asked softly. 

“Carnations,” came her quiet reply. “Silly I guess but I think they smell wonderful. They’re cheap and common but they cheer me up like no other flower.” 

“I’ll remember that,” I promised. 

'“What do _you_ like?” She asked, looking at me with amusement. 

“Me?” 

Men have a right to favor a flower,” Simone persisted. “It’s the twenty-first century.” 

“Magnolias,” I admitted after a few seconds. “Very traditional for the South but there you have it. I like magnolias.” I pulled lightly on her hands, drawing her to me. “I . . . I want to kiss you,” I told her, feeling a little light-headed for saying it. 

“And I _want_ you to kiss me,” she sighed. “Even though it’s going to be dangerous.” 

That threw me for a loop. “Dangerous?” Our faces were nearly touching and the scent of her skin sent a flush of heat through me. 

“You can’t change me,” Simone whispered. “A kiss . . . it turns the ignition for people like me. It’s like the high board at the deep end—scary and thrilling all at once.” 

She was warning me but like the moths circling overhead I was caught up now, so close to what I wanted that even an admonition couldn’t stop me. “Yes,” I agreed, “but I still want it.” 

That was enough; Simone leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine lightly and that mouth of hers was hotter and more _luscious_ than it had a right to be. Every nerve in my damn body pulsed with pleasure and I know I groaned. I couldn’t stop myself from pulling her into my arms and deepening that kiss. 

She kissed back; teasing me, her tongue flirting with mine in ways I hadn’t done in too many years and when Simone broke away, she gave a pleased little shudder that made me throb. “D-dangerous,” she repeated, licking her bottom lip. 

I wanted to say the right thing to bring her mouth back to mine but just then my phone rang; Laurel’s ringtone to be exact. I bit back a curse. Simone gave a sympathetic smile and waved to the car behind me as I pulled my phone out. “Go,” she murmured. “It’s important, I know.” 

“We are _not_ done,” I told Simone tersely as I reluctantly pushed away from the car door. “Not by a _long_ shot. Saturday.” 

“Saturday,” she agreed, and a few minutes later I was cruising up the road, listening to my daughter on speaker mode and hearing only one in every five words or so. Every now and then I licked my lips. 


	9. Chapter 9

I got home, still listening to Laurel, made her a promise to get matters straightened out, and said goodbye all on automatic. It wasn’t that I didn’t mean what I told my daughter—I _did_ love her and I was going to talk to the credit reporting agency—but frankly, my mind wasn’t focused on it very much.

Honestly, I was just too caught up in what had happened with Simone to be thinking straight, and even as I tried to get back to my usual routine of making dinner and catching up on email I stayed restless. My body ached in a way it hadn’t in years; I felt like I was twenty again—hard and hungry for a woman beyond rational thought.

All that from a kiss.

Just a kiss.

I wondered if I was losing my mind. I’d come too far and lived too long to be affected like this, I argued with myself. I was well past reacting this way . . . but my body didn’t agree and it got to the point where I gave in to the only release I had. Not proud of it, but I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep unless I dealt with my lust first.

So I stripped down and got in the shower, turning the water to as hot as I could take it. Soaped myself up, and from the first stroke knew it wasn’t going to take much, oh no. I braced one hand against the tiled wall while the other gripped my cock and I worked it slowly, letting my mind pretend it was Simone caressing me, moaning as she did so. Powerful stuff, fantasy, and having had a taste of the woman fueled matters considerably.

I wanted to hold out, and make it last longer; God knows the intensity was enough to make me groan and rock my hips but the images of taking Simone were too much and after a few minutes I came, hard, splattering thick strings of semen against the wet tile while my vision whited out and my heart pounded. I ended up grabbing the showerhead so my legs didn’t give out on me, and let the water run over my body, hoping it would clear my thoughts.

After that I dried off, climbed into boxers and went to bed, feeling a little numb.

\--oo00oo—

We found our missing lieutenant late Tuesday, body weighed down by a concrete cinder-block out in the Bayou Sauvage. LaSalle volunteered to work with the divers looking for the briefcase and found it, but it was empty. Percy and Gregorio found a connection between Jankowitz and one of the fishing charters, namely a rental of a skiff from one of the little companies near the national reserve.

I should have been pleased to get a break in the case; so far it was looking like the lieutenant had been planning to sell the contents of the case to parties yet unnamed but with connections to the construction industry. Naval intelligence confirmed the contents of the attaché had held land specs on the expansion of our naval installations, including the relay station from the case a few months back.

As I said, I should have been pleased, but mostly I was distracted. Oh I hid it as best I could from my team, and I’m sure they all had theories about why I was a little less cheerful, but the simple fact was my mind was elsewhere. Since I had to stop in and check on the official cause of death, I went to the morgue, caught between hope and trepidation about running into Simone. I wasn’t sure I could keep any sort of demeanor around her, especially in public but I needed to try if we were going to work together.

She was there, along with Loretta, and the minute I saw her I felt a surge through me like a static shock. I couldn’t swear to it, but Simone looked like she felt it as well, which was nice.

“Dwayne--here for the Lieutenant?” Loretta murmured. “Well the good news is the cause of death is pretty straightforward.”

“His throat was cut,” Simone told me, motioning to the sheet-covered body on the table. “Most likely a hunting knife with a serrated edge. There are rope marks around his wrists as well as on his ankles where he was tied to the cinder-block.”

I nodded. “Hunting knife would be typical equipment on a fishing charter. Anything else?” I tried to be professional. It felt good to see her a little bit nervous; clearly she was working at it too.

“I do have an ink stain on his hip,” Loretta told me. “Looks to be residue from a receipt that he tucked into the waistband of his shorts, and it’s a nice shade of orange, so if you find a company with receipts that color . . .”

“That narrows it down,” I finished. “Thank you, that helps considerably.”

“Good!” Loretta beamed. “I didn’t catch it by the way; that was Simone’s work.”

“Nice,” I told her, pleased to see her blush a bit.

Simone gave a shrug. “I thought it was a tattoo,” she admitted.

Loretta looked at me and then at Simone; I swear I saw a light bulb go off, and she scooted out of the autopsy bay, grinning like a Cheshire cat and murmuring some excuse about a phone call.

She’d be saying something about this soon enough, but for the moment it was just me, Simone, and a dead officer. I shifted and tried not to look at her. “You okay?”

“I’m all right,” Simone told me in a quiet little voice. “Nervous and a little confused, but other than that I’m fine.”

I took a step closer to her, feeling that familiar pull as I did so. “Sounds familiar,” I admitted. “Second thoughts?”

She looked up at me with those soft green eyes and gave a little laugh. “Dwayne, I can’t even get through my _first_ thoughts. You and your damned kiss! There are things I want to do _to_ you, and do _for_ you . . .”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Same here,” I rasped. “Not the time or place but yeah.”

She came over and laid a hand on my forearm, the warmth nice in the cool of the room. “Agreed. This is sort of insane but I like it. Not what I expected coming to this city.”

“What DO you expect? On Saturday?” I asked, half-curious, half-wary. “Besides a cooking lesson that is, because I don’t want to get our wires crossed about this.”

She stroked my forearm lightly. “A lesson for a lesson I guess. Are you willing to put yourself into my hands?”

At that moment Simone could have asked me to jump off the Lake Ponchartrain Causeway and I would probably have done it. “How so?”

“Let me touch you and I promise we’ll _both_ enjoy it,” she purred at me.

“Always _intended_ to let you touch me,” I assured her in a low voice. “That wasn’t in doubt.”

“Dwayne,” Simone murmured, “I’m talking something a little more . . . restrained.”

Took me a second to catch on, but when I did, I drew in a breath. “You mean the cuffs.”

“Not those precisely,” she countered. “Something a little softer, but for the same purpose. Tell me now if that’s going to be a problem for you because if it _is_ we need to . . . negotiate.”

It dawned on me that this was the true test; the moment of trust between us. Simone had been nothing but honest with me about her inclinations and now the ball was in my court. I held her gaze and gave a slow nod because out of all the things I am, a man of my word is what I’m proud of.

“Not a problem,” I promised her.

The smile she gave me in return could have lit up every bulb in the French Quarter for Mardi Gras.

\--oo00oo—

I cut out early on Friday and went shopping for oysters, making it a point to get the best I could along with the other ingredients in a grocery run that evening. Once I’d picked up everything I was going to need for Oysters Bienville, I made another pass through the place, going down that particular aisle and feeling a little sweat on the back of my neck.

Precautions. Fancy way of saying birth control but I had no idea if Simone was on anything; our conversations hadn’t gotten that far. I hadn’t bought condoms in years; Linda preferred the Pill and so had Rita. Glumly I wondered if Laurel was on it and decided that wasn’t a line of thought I wanted to get into. Instead I took a moment to look over the selections, glad I had the aisle to myself.

I finally chose a name brand I recognized, grateful that the box was discreet looking, and dropped it in the cart, feeling guilty and hoping I’d get a clerk I didn’t know because I didn’t need any comments, encouraging or otherwise. I lucked out and managed to get home without anyone saying a word, thank goodness. Then I spent some time reviewing the recipe, lifting weights, and trying very hard not to consider anything beyond that.

\--oo00oo—

The only problem with the brownies Simone made was a small one. They refused to leave the pan. I looked at them and then at her, trying not to laugh but it was hard. “Did you butter or grease the pan before putting the batter in?”

She gave a little sigh. “No.”

“There you go. The only way to save these . . . “ I took a spoon and scooped out the dessert into brown balls, “Is to serve it up like this with good vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.”

Simone looked a little embarrassed but I set the pan in hot soapy water to soak and gave her a smile. “Still brownies, still good. Don’t fret; they’ll get eaten, trust me. LaSalle has a hollow leg when it comes to sweets.”

“I thought being an enamel pan could make them slide out,” she sighed.

“I keep tellin’ you. Butter does wonders.”

She finally smiled, and tilted her head. “I could take that in SO many ways.”

And just like that I felt the shift. Our mutual gaze went from sweet to dangerously sensual, like the stroke of a hand down a bare spine. I leaned on the counter and smiled back.

“We have a while before the oysters are ready, and until then, I’m your willing student,” I purred at her.

Simone glanced up, towards where my apartment was, and back at me. “Brave words, Mister Pride. I ask again: are you willing to let me make you feel good?” She didn’t smile though; her look was one of almost yearning and that touched something deep inside. This woman really did want to make this all about me. Sexy, yeah, but also, almost a gift.

I came around from behind the counter and reached for her, taking her in my arms, cradling her close. “I’m ready.”


	10. Chapter 10

I’ve always thought stockings were sexy. Not panty hose but actual stockings. Probably a sexist response but for a man like me they do make a breezy day much more interesting. Currently I was stretched out on the bed and had my crossed arms behind my head with a stocking tying my wrists together. Simone had wrapped them nicely, ending it in a bow with easy ends for freeing me when needed.

We were in the guest bedroom upstairs. I’d been more than willing to take her to my room but Simone had said that someplace neutral and less emotionally-charged would be better to start, and I saw the sense in that. Didn’t mean we wouldn’t be going to my own bed eventually but I’d promised to learn from her and this was part of it, apparently.

“All right . . . are you comfortable?” she asked as she leaned over me checking my hands. Given that it brought her chest nearly into my face I grinned.

“So far, so good,” I told her cheekily.

I got a patient look in return as she sat up and rested a hand on my chest. We were still dressed at the moment and I was damned curious how things were going to go, but a pleasant tingle was starting low in my belly. Simone took my loafers and socks off, setting them at the foot of the bed before coming back to sit near my hip.

“You look far too _smug_ , Dwayne Pride,” she accused lightly, her gaze sweet. “Not even the least bit tense, are you?”

I thrust my jaw forward a bit. “Wellll _parts_ of me might be.”

Simone smiled. “Let’s see if we can make things more interesting.” She undid the buttons of my shirt and pulled it open, giving a little purr of appreciation as she did so. I’d done more blushing around this woman than I had in a long time and this moment was no exception; I felt the heat radiating from my face as she looked over my chest.

“Ohhh my. That’s _very_ nice,” Simone told me. “Muscles and fur! May I touch you?”

“I’d . . . like that,” I told her, my mouth a little dry. To be stretched out and exposed to her was kinda strange but I knew she’d be gentle, and having her study me so intently wasn’t hard on the ego. I work at keeping myself in shape, and genetics have blessed me with a good frame but when you’re inching up in the years it’s not always easy to feel . . . desirable. Even less so when the one woman you’ve been with for years decides not to be with you anymore.

But all those thoughts disappeared when Simone pressed her hand in the middle of my chest and toyed with the silvery curls there. The heat of her touch sent a shiver through me, and she brought the other hand up, sliding them around my furry pecs to rest over my nipples. The sensuality of that sent a hard flare down my stomach and I shuddered a little.

She purred again. “Touch hungry. It’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed being stroked. I don’t understand why, Dwayne. You are _gorgeous_!”

I wanted to argue but I was enjoying it too much so I just blinked a bit. Simone bent down and kissed my cheek, her hands sliding to cup the sides of my neck. I looked at her and she kissed my mouth, bringing that warmth and sweetness right where I needed it most. I kissed her back, struggling a little because of my tied hands, but she seemed to understand and kept kissing me.

Kept reassuring me how much she enjoyed it.

I _like_ kissing. It’s a great start to all sorts of intimacy and they can be as silly or sacred or sensual as the two people involved want it to be. Most people think of kisses as the appetizer to more, but I’m a man who could make a _meal_ of kisses, especially the ones I was sharing right now. Wet slow sweet kisses; deep sensual utterly animal kisses. Simone had a delicious mouth and the nip of her teeth sent little jolts through me when she pressed them on my bottom lip.

I wanted to hold her; pull her closer but being tied up didn’t let me. The sensation was frustrating but weirdly, in a good way. Because I _couldn’t_ hold her, I concentrated on enjoying the kissing, and when Simone started to let her hands stroke me as well the sensations intensified. I gasped a little, and she gave a giggle.

“You are one _sweet_ beast,” she said, and those words sent a searing pang of lust through me like a shot of bourbon on an empty stomach.

“Simmmone,” I managed, “I . . .” 

She paused, watching me, hands resting along my bare rib cage. “It’s powerful, I know. Just being able to play with your chest and kiss you is delicious.”

“I don’t know if I can _take_ much more,” I admitted. She was right—my body was sensitized to those hot hands of hers, and there was no way Simone could miss the thick ridge rising along my fly.

She leaned down again, looking deeply into my eyes. “Say the word and I’ll untie you. I want you comfortable and happy, but . . .” Simone trailed off, lightly pressing that sweet mouth against mine, muffling her words a little, “I think you can take a _little_ more, Dwayne Pride. You’re a big strong man with a deep appetite for sensuality and I really want to touch _more_ of you, darling.”

That voice of hers, those words . . . I closed my eyes, hoping I didn’t embarrass myself by going off like a rocket. I took a deep breath.

“Okay,” I agreed, hoarsely. Not only was I getting one _hell_ of a lesson in kink, and it dawned on me that so far I was liking it almost too much. I shifted a little and Simone stood up.

“Watch me,” she ordered, and as I did, she flipped the hem of her sundress up over her head, slipping out of it to stand there in a bra and panty set of light pink.

And Jesus GOD, a matching garter belt and stockings. I bit my lip so damn hard I drew blood.

“Shit!” I blurted, partially out of pain and partially out of a runaway surge of desire. “Not helping!”

She giggled again, sauntering over. “You’re right. Time to stop teasing.”

I was in a haze by now; nearly overwhelmed and not in any mood to resist, not that I wanted to. Simon straddled my knees and undid my fly, tugging my slacks and shorts down enough to free my cock.

“This,” she told me, “is magnificent.”

Her hands caught my cock, and stroked. Those sweet hot hands moving up and down the length of me drove me out of my mind. I lost the ability to speak or think coherently as I bucked my hips up and Simone slid her fingers in a snug grip, putting perfect pressure just where I needed it. 

A few strokes more and I came, hard. I grunted, feeling the splash spattering down on my chest but Simone didn’t let go until the last of it dribbled out, smiling at me the entire time. When I could breathe, she leaned down, laying on my chest, and reached behind my head, giving a tug on one of the stocking ends, freeing me.

Insane. I was sticky, satiated, and at this point saturated but I didn’t give a damn. Her weight felt perfect on me, and once my hands were loose I wrapped them around her, nuzzling her neck, feeling shy and dazed. Not just the usual post-orgasm sensation---this was different. 

It was intimate.

\--oo00oo—

I wasn’t sure how I felt, and Simone told me that was normal. She held me for a while and we didn’t say anything. Part of me wanted to return the favor so to speak, but when I stroked her back, she kissed her way up my neck and told me to savor the afterglow.

“This one was for _you_ ,” she assured me. “Seriously. I am over the moon at being able to enjoy your climax with you. My turn’s coming at some point, I know. No worries.”

Strange. Her words made me feel better and I tried to relax, but trying to sort my feelings out was a little more difficult than I thought.

“So this is . . . what you like?” I managed.

“Among other things,” Simone told me with a happy sigh. “And I don’t need it all the time. I couldn’t because it’s . . . intense. A sort of hyper-experience.”

“No shit,” I admitted with a wry laugh. “Not what I expected at all, but--”

“Good?” she looked at me anxiously. I brushed one of those dark curls of hers back and gave her a smile.

“Damn good.”

\--oo00oo—

I washed off and she did too, the pair of us using wet washcloths to clean up. One of the less glamorous aspects of sex is semen, and yet Simone was cheerful and sweet, teasing me and not taking the moment seriously.

I changed and once we were dressed we headed downstairs again. I held Simone’s hand, wanting that contact. She was right about being a little touch-starved and if she was willing to offer hers I was more than willing to take it. We went back to the kitchen and I took out the oysters from the warming oven, serving them up while sitting with her in the courtyard.

Apparently we both had good appetites, and they tasted marvelous. Maybe the hypersensitivity lingered but everything seemed in sharper focus and I took it in, enjoying it.

“So, how do you feel _now_?” she asked. When I gave her a look, Simone added, “sort of aftercare. Checking in to see how you’re doing so you know you’re not alone.”

“Physically I feel great,” I told her, tucking my napkin to the side of my plate. “Even mentally I’m in a pretty nice place. Except for the reciprocity.”

Simone chuckled. “You’re such a caregiver and yet you don’t realize what you’ve given me today.”

I probably looked as confused as I felt; she reached over to take my hand. “Control,” Simone clarified. “You _trusted_ me. That’s _huge_ in my world, Dwayne. I’m still a little giddy from that and will be for a while. Thank you, _mon ange_.”

“You’re . . . welcome,” I told her, feeling a crooked grin on my face. “The other thing though . . . that makes us . . . ?”

“Intimate friends,” Simone told me with a squeeze of my fingers. “Yes?”

“Yes,” I told her, but something inside me didn’t much like that label. “Maybe more?”

Simone held my gaze, and I saw something sad flit across her expression. “In time,” she agreed and I knew I’d have to settle for that at the moment.


	11. Chapter 11

I spent most of Sunday at the bar, getting it ready for Halloween, which would be the upcoming Friday, and on Monday my good mood was still apparent; nearly everyone commented on it, leaving me a little embarrassed. Still, I found time to order a bouquet of red carnations to be delivered to Simone’s house and considered how I wanted to handle the upcoming weekend.

“So that’s two cases revolving around that relay station,” Gregorio pointed out on Monday. “Call me suspicious but is there something there we missed?”

I agreed; it did seem to be more than a coincidence and we still didn’t know who had the papers from the lieutenant’s attaché. LaSalle thought the best lead was through the skiff receipt and I set him on that, while Percy and Gregorio wanted to look around the actual relay station site. 

We all went, and met up with Lieutenant Thuc, who gave us permission, albeit with an amused expression. “Go ahead. It’s just sandy coastline receding into swamp,” she pointed out. “Nothing you could build on without a lot of concrete laid down first. I hope you brought boots.”

Gregorio made a face at that, and Percy snickered. I sent them to look along the beach and gave myself the task of looking along the swamp side, seeing if I could spot anything and giving myself time to think of Simone. I trekked through some of the drier parts of the soupy ground, remembering Saturday and grinning to myself because it still seemed wonderfully unreal to me.

After Simone’s initial confession I’d looked up a bit on bondage, trying to avoid the sleazier sites which took work. Fortunately I’d found a few places that expanded on what she’d explained to me and it made for interesting albeit clandestine reading. I wasn’t open to everything I saw, not by a long shot, but there were a few things that looked . . . interesting. 

A part of me wondered how she got started with this, and I knew that conversation might be difficult to hear. If she wanted to tell me herself, fine, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. And Simone made it clear that kink wasn’t a full-time practice, so that left a lot of room for other activities along more _typical_ lines. Musing as I was on these thoughts I almost missed the footprints in the mud. I squatted to have a closer look and realized the prints had a groove running between them.

A wheelbarrow track.

I radioed Gregorio and Percy to come join me as I tried to figure out what a wheelbarrow was doing here on the scrub edge of the swamp.

We went in, following the tracks, with Gregorio complaining under her breath about her shoes and after a mile or so found what looked to be some sort of excavation site half-hidden by tarps and brush. As we got closer someone fired a gun and that put us into the action but good. Percy scooted around to my left while I tried to talk to whoever it was, getting a little more loose gunfire for my trouble.

Despite the sludgy water, Gregorio was a trouper and went around to the right side—the watery one—to meet up with Percy behind our perp. They called out, I charged and we managed to tackle our would-be assailant pretty quickly. Small man, definitely not an outdoorsman at all. He gave in, setting down his weapon but not telling us anything more. Searching around, we found the wheelbarrow, some camping gear, and a windlass over a soupy hole about six feet wide.

We also found a few rotting sacks of filthy tarnished discs that turned out to be 17th century Spanish dollars, or as most people know ‘em--pieces of eight.

\--oo00oo—

“Real pirate treasure!” LaSalle kept repeating. “And I was stuck talking to good ole’ boys with bass boats. I miss out on ALL the good stuff!”

“Good stuff,” Gregorio complained. “Mosquitoes, mud, a stench I am nevah going to get out of my hair, all for a bunch of coins you’d have to donate to a museum anyway.”

“Still worth it,” Percy chirped, “if only for the bragging rights! We found genuine pirate booty, wooo!”

They were all dressed up of course: LaSalle had on a screamingly loud tropical shirt and boxing gloves for his Hawaiian Punch costume. Percy was in a green dress covered with little hand-drawn avocados along with angel wings, so she was Holy Guacamole. Gregorio had on a bunch of chocolate bars pinned to a hoodie along with several gold chains—a candy rapper.

Not bad, pun-wise I had to admit. I’d gone for pirate gear, mostly because it was apropos and I had the billowy shirt from a few years back. 

“Not ours and not to keep,” I reminded them. “But it does put a motive to buying out that relay station, that’s for sure.”

“Silver’s at fifteen dollars an ounce, but the collector value on the eight hundred and forty-two pieces you guys found brings it up considerably,” Chill assured us as he rolled in wearing an eyeshade, sleeve suspenders and playing cards along his vest—a wheeler-dealer, clearly.

“How much are we estimating?” LaSalle wanted to know.

“Once the museums start bidding, probably half a million,” he replied. “Too bad you didn’t get any souvenirs.”

Loretta came in, wearing scrubs and a pointy hat. “Witch Doctor,” she told us, and we applauded. Behind her, Simone smiled at me and I smiled back.

“And this . . .” Loretta snickered, waving at her co-worker, “Is definitely the _best_ costume of the night.”

Simone stepped forward and preened. She had on a short black velvet dress with a neckline that made me stare—low-cut, showing off her bouncy chest to its best advantage Sewn along her décolleté were little tablets, capsules and pills in colorful sequins, and she wore a black velvet choker with a tiny pill bottle on it.

“Oh Gawd!” Gregorio brayed, “It’s a drug bust!”

We all broke up; I found myself wheezing, partially because it was a GREAT pun costume but also because that neckline was making my tongue sweat. Simone kept a straight face but I could see the corners of her mouth curling up a tiny bit. 

“Gonna be hard to top that!” LaSalle admitted. “Well _done_ , Miz Simone!”

We broke into groups to talk and Simone drifted over to me. “I’m guessing you’re a pirate . . . King?” In an undertone she added, “Thank you for the carnations.”

“That works,” I told her. “And you’re welcome. Punch?” I poured her a ladle-full out of the dry ice filled bowl and she took a grateful sip.

We all made merry, telling stories of old cases and talking up a storm together as we took turns passing out candy to visitors. I insisted Christopher show off his juggling skills and served up course after course of Halloween appetizers, making sure everyone was in a good mood. The street outside was full of color and sound too, enough to keep us all buoyant when I propped open the door.

Gradually though, things wound down. LaSalle left first, followed by Loretta and the others one by one until around eleven was just me and Simone cleaning up dishes. We were quiet but from the looks I was getting it wasn’t because she felt shy. I saw the way she eyed the loose neckline on my pirate shirt and it did my heart good to see her interest. 

“Nice . . . pirate chest,” she teased, passing by with cups and deliberately brushing against me.

“You DO realize I’m gonna have to confiscate that dress as evidence,” I replied, following her to the kitchen. Simone was loading the dishwasher and bending over definitely made that chest something to look at. 

Simone chuckled. “Is that so?”

“I’m sworn to uphold the law and I’m pretty sure that dress is violating several laws including _gravity_ , Simone.”

“Well if you confiscate it, I won’t have much to wear home, Officer Pirate,” she shot back, moving to dry her hands on one of the towels.

I considered that, or pretended to anyway. “Well if that’s the case, you probably need to stay,” I told her lightly. No point in pushing the matter but the offer was there and I dearly wanted her to take me up on it.

“Stay?” Simone turned and gave me a surprised look and it was clear the idea hadn’t occurred to her. 

I gave her a crooked smile. “It would make tomorrow’s cooking lesson that much easier if you were already here,” I pointed out. “I’ll teach you French toast. I do make a _mean_ French toast.”

She drew in a breath. “Mean you say?”

“Mean as a cat in a sack full of dogs,” I told her. “Mean as Gregorio without coffee or sleep.”

Simone laughed. “That’s pretty mean. Well, the offers’ very tempting, and I’ve got some spare clothes in the car.”

“You know what they say about temptation,” I reminded her, catching her hand and pulling her into my arms.

“About how the best way of getting rid of it is to give in?” she countered, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. For some reason Simone always managed to hit the most sensitive spot and I shivered at the touch of her hot lips.

“I find it’s true,” I told her. “Please, stay.”

She purred against me.

\--oo00oo—

After locking everything up downstairs it seemed perfectly natural to lead Simone upstairs at that point. She followed me shyly, and hesitated only a moment when I took her past the guest room towards my bedroom. We stood in the doorway, wrapped around each other and I spoke softly to her.

“You gave to me, now I want to give back,” I told Simone. “I appreciate what you know; let me share in my way.”

She nodded and looked up at me, eyes big. “Dwayne . . . I’m not good at this. Sex, that is. Just so you understand.”

My heart ached a little hearing that, and I knew it was due to her husband. Whatever that man had put her through had cost this woman dearly and I was determined to make it right.

“This won’t be sex,” I assured her. “It’s making love. World of difference.”

And I set about to prove it in the moonlight coming through the window.


	12. Chapter 12

I helped her out of her dress to find out she had on not only the prettiest lingerie, but also a corset. That stumped me only for a moment but I found the hooks on the back and undid them while she chuckled, her hands slipping inside my pirate shirt.

“You _do_ love to gift-wrap yourself,” I murmured with a grin.

“I’m a French woman; it’s second-nature,” Simone reminded me. “Along with perfume.”

“All of which I _like_ ,” I murmured, finally managing the last hook. Simone shimmied out of it and set it aside, taking a deep inhale

“Hard to breathe in a corset,” she reminded me, her voice a little nervous.

“Take a few, relax,” I urged her. She did but I noticed her hands kept stroking me under the shirt, and I pulled it off to give her better access. Simone definitely liked that, and let her nails trail my torso. Ticklish, but sensual too. “I’m guessing _you_ like a fuzzy chest on a man.”

“Yes,” she told me. “It’s playful and . . . macho. Also fun to cuddle.”

I shrugged and grinned. “All yours.”

That made her step closer. We kissed, going slow, swaying a little. I wanted her but I wasn’t about to scare her off, and this was a good chance to build a little more trust.

It occurred to me in the back of my mind how Simone was very different from Linda. Linda had always been confident, well-aware of her own lean beauty through the years. She and I had been equal partners in a lot of ways but Simone’s shyness and lush curves were new territory for me. This chance to bring out all her potential sensuality was arousing, and I felt something deep stirring within me. A protectiveness. A new kind of desire I hadn’t felt before.

Simone wriggled as my hands stroked her spine; she looked like a kitten about to purr for the first time. “Ohhhh!”

“Did that hurt?”

“Nnnooo,” she whispered, licking her bottom lip. “I just got little jolts down my back. Really good ones!”

I was definitely on the right track.

I gently peeled her out of her brassiere and wished there was more light; from what I could see those pretty freckles faded into smooth pale skin along her torso, and bared, the sight of those luscious breasts with their saucy nipples had me groaning a little. 

“All the women in my family are . . . endowed,” she confessed, as if it was something shameful.

I gave a little growl, and slid my hands under them, cupping the sweet heft of her breasts as I did so. “Gorgeous,” I told her, “absolutely gorgeous.”

That pleased her as did my touch; Simone arched against me, a little breathless when I kissed her throat.

“Dwayne,” she murmured, wiggling a little. I backed her up to the bed and guided her down, arching over her and planting kisses from collarbones to nipples, enjoying the heat and scent of her bared body. I couldn’t get enough of how satiny Simone was, or how warm. She ran her hands along my shoulders, as interested in my skin as I was in hers.

I was hard, but I’d dealt with myself well before the party so I wasn’t on edge and could take my time in giving back to the woman under me. Simone shivered and propped herself up on her elbows, curls all tousled as she looked down the length of her body at me.

“Now?” she whispered anxiously. I brushed my chin against her belly button.

“No rush,” I replied, nosing my way along, pressing kisses along a very faint little scar that was probably from an appendectomy. She was ticklish, giving little squeaks as I breathed in the soft scent of her skin. When I reached the ridge of her left hip I nipped it and Simone responded by tensing and tightening her grip on my shoulder.

“Hey,” she protested playfully. “No biting.” I loved how breathless she sounded.

“I dunno,” I mock-sighed. “You seem _awfully_ tasty to me.”

Simone gave a nervous giggle. “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never . . .” she trailed off and I hesitated, looked up along the lush contours of her body to see her embarrassed expression.

“That’s a crime,” I told her quietly, slipping to my knees at the edge of the bed as I ran my hands down her thighs, lightly pressing them apart. “To my way of thinking every last inch of you is lickable, Minou.”

Simone stared at me, her gaze bewildered. “Really?” she finally breathed. “It . . . men really _do_ . . . that?”

It hit me then that despite what she knew of kink, she really didn’t know much about lovemaking, and I was pretty sure that was because of old bastard she’d been married to. Carefully I spread my hands over her thighs, trying not to be distracted by the dark glossy curls on the sweet mound between them. I cleared my throat.

“Yes. It’s one of the highlights for me,” I assured her. “Hopefully for you too. Remember what you said about trust? Well it’s all that and more.”

Simone’s fingers clutched the bedspread reflexively. “I . . . trust you,” she gulped. “But I don’t . . . know what to do for that. I thought you were just going to . . . _you_ know . . . .”

“Eventually, and that will happen when _both_ of us can’t wait a minute longer,” I replied, mentally cursing Hugo Hiver. He’d done a number on this gorgeous woman and I was going to right this wrong with righteous delight. I nudged her thighs wider. “In the meantime, I want to see just how beautiful you are.”

“Dwaaaayne,” she drew out my name and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse. I kissed each of her knees, staying patient and Simone eventually bit her lips and let me gently spread her thighs apart.

God she was gorgeous. All my fantasies didn’t come anywhere close to the sight of the delicate petals of her sex, and her sweet curls framing that slick cleft. It was like an exotic night bloom, and the scent went straight through me in hard throbs of lust. I didn’t think I could want _anything_ so damned much, particularly at my age. 

It was good to be wrong. I swallowed hard and managed to pull my gaze up to Simone’s face. She looked so vulnerable. I slid my hands in long strokes over her thighs, widening them. “Oh you are one damn _beautiful_ woman,” I rasped, needing to make her understand. I began to lick the inside of one of her thighs and she gasped.

A good sign. I kept going, hungry for the taste of this woman and the wet flicks of my tongue along those sensitive creases on either side of her hips had Simone quivering. As gently as I could, I stroked the soft brush of her fur, and using my thumbs lightly pulled open the seam of her sex. Sweet, hot, and slick. The first long stroke of my tongue made her shudder hard.

“Mon Dieu!”

I kept going, lost in the sweetness, tasting Simone, savoring the peachy tang of her pretty cleft and when I lightly circled the stiff little bud deep in those folds Simone gave a low wild cry. She began to shake, hips rocking up against my face and I kept a steady flick going with my tongue until she sagged moments later, as sweet and languid as molasses across the bedspread. 

I grinned.

“C’est bon?” I asked, raising my head and laughing as Simone gave a little after-shudder, her legs wrapping around my shoulders possessively.

“Très méchant!” She purred, “Very naughty, Mister Pride!”

“But fun,” I reminded her, rising up to loom over her splayed body. She looked like a sweet centerfold with her dimples and half-closed eyes. 

Simone held her arms out to me. “Now,” she urged me. “Please, now.”

I shrugged out of my slacks and shorts, snagged one of the condoms from the nightstand and slipped it on, a little out of practice but Simone sat up and helped, her warm fingers smoothing the latex down the length of my erection. 

“There seems to be a lot of you, Mr. Pride,” she teased, fingers stroking the thick veins through the thin condom.

“You . . . inspire me,” I replied, my voice a little hoarse at this point. Simone scooted back further across the bed and I stretched out next to her before shifting to my hands and knees over her supine form. All of me ached for her and I felt a rush of dizziness at the heat in her eyes as Simone pulled me down to her.

I kissed her deeply, shifting myself between her thighs, whispering softly not to be afraid, that I wouldn’t hurt her. Simone reached down and guided me, her kisses against my throat as I thrust into her in one deep and glorious stroke.

God in heaven there’s no feeling like it. The first sweet drive into a woman is as glorious as it gets in this life and Simone was maddeningly hot and slick, her cleft squeezing my prick and making me grunt. I began to stroke, trying to stay slow and gentle but she wrapped her arms and legs around me, pulling me, pushing her hips up to meet mine and we found a steady rhythm that after a while grew harder and faster as I drove myself into her. Kisses, nips, and gasps were all I could manage as my body rocked with hers, the heat flaring deep under my stomach in lust-driven sparks.

I heard the shift in her breathing, the flutter of her lips and moments later the sweet pulsing squeezes that signaled her orgasm. That set me off and I growled, feeling my own surging in long pleasure drenched spasms that wracked my frame and left me arching within her with every thrust.

I tried not to collapse on her but Simone didn’t seem to mind; she lay as stunned as I was, her beautiful chest pressed damply under mine, eyes closed, wet trails along her cheeks. That alarmed me and I muzzily pressed my face close to hers. “Simone? _Mon ange_? Did I hurt you?”

Shit. I would never forgive myself if I’d done that.

She shook her head, not opening her eyes, but her crooked grin was so deep I saw her dimples. “No. Tears of joy,” she whispered, her arms tightening around my damp shoulders. “Merci, mon cher.”


	13. Chapter 13

Right before dawn I woke up to realize I was curled around Simone under the covers, pressed against her spine. Truth is I’ve always been a cuddler. Used to drive Linda a little crazy since she liked to shift around in her sleep, but not me. I’d gotten in the habit of holding a pillow these last few years but at the moment I had something far warmer and nicer than a sack of feathers under my arm and my body knew it too since parts of me were waking up faster than the rest.

I wanted to let her sleep; we’d earned it, but even so, I found myself pressing up against her, breathing in Simone’s scent and savoring it. That round rump of hers was _too_ much of an enticement, and once again I found myself growing harder against it even as I tried to tell myself to behave. No such luck; now that my body had realized the sexual drought was over it was determined to indulge again.

Simone gave a little sigh and pressed back against me, which was all the encouragement my damned prick needed; it surged up along the cleft of her ass, throbbing happily.

She giggled. “Good morning to you _too_.”

“Biology,” I tried to shift the blame. “Happens with men . . .”

“I thought that was just a _story_ ,” Simone replied, grinding a little more firmly and making me take a deep breath. Definitely awake now.

“I think you’ll find there’s _hard_ evidence to support the truth of the matter,” I managed, tightening my arm around her warm waist.

“That’s apparent,” she snorted. “Feels as if there’s a _log_ in the bed between us.”

“Flatterer,” I accused, snuggling my face in the crook of her neck, making her squeak. “Just for _that_ . . . “

This round was slower, and sweeter. I found myself flat on my back with Simone determined to explore my body in the growing light. She seemed fascinated by the most mundane parts of me: hairy armpits, my nose; the scars along my ribcage. The whole time those soft warm hands slid and stroked along my torso, and when she touched my face I gave a little sigh.

“Absolutely average,” I murmured looking up at her. “Just a man.”

“No,” Simone corrected me, straddling my waist in a dangerously sensual way. “You are unique and classical, Dwayne. Wonderfully proportioned and muscled.” She kissed chin. “With these genetics, you should be donating semen.”

“I can start right now,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Probably _will_ if you keep wiggling like that.”

She gave me a look I was coming to know; a hot-eyed glance that meant trouble of the best kind. “Maybe I should take care of it then.”

I met her little challenge. “Maybe you should.” Of course I’d been assuming she meant another round of lovemaking but instead Simone slithered down and lay across my legs, making it clear that she was literal about her intention, her hands caressing the length of my prick in ways that had me groaning a little.

“You don’t have to do _that_ ,” I tried to tell her. I wasn’t going to coerce her into anything but Simone lifted her head and smirked at me, those green eyes bright.

“Oh I _want_ to,” came her reply, and she began to press kisses down the trail of fur from my navel into the heavy thicket around my groin, hands still caressing me. I would have protested a bit more but once Simone started licking the length of my prick I could only gasp and flex, feeling a rush of lust at the sight.

I’m no innocent; I’ve enjoyed my fair share of orality, both giving and receiving. From early on I knew women tasted wonderful. But being the recipient is one of those situations that drives me out of my mind. Can’t help it; it’s _definitely_ one of my hot buttons. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Trying. Not succeeding as Simone went from licking to kissing to slipping her pretty mouth over the head of my prick. 

I knew when to give up and I did, growling and flexing my hips as she slurped and sucked. Just watching her had me right on the edge and I after a few minutes I wanted to warn her because I didn’t think she’d be . . . accommodating, to put it nicely. I _tried_ to speak, but Simone kept going and I passed the point of no return, caught up in the sweet slickness of her mouth, lost in the sheer pleasure of the moment.

“Sorry, sorry,” I tried to apologize, but Simone looked up at me in sweet amusement, giggling as she swallowed, licked her lips and wiped her chin.

“No need. Alllll gone,” she chuckled, “I wanted to finish what I’d started.”

I pulled her up across my body, draping her over me as I nuzzled her, feeling like _the_ king of the world.

\--oo00oo—

“The best French toast should be done with half and half. Milk’s okay, and cream’s too heavy but half and half is the perfect compromise. That along with brown sugar, cinnamon and butter makes it one of the best hot breakfasts bar none,” I told Simone. 

She was paying rapt attention, watching me whisk the half and half with the melted butter, and I was a little distracted by the fact she was in one of my shirts and not much else. There’s something about having a woman wearing your clothing that’s a special kind of intimacy. Simone was sort of lost in it, but damned cute, with her unbrushed hair and smug expression.

“How much do you use?” she wanted to know.

“Quarter cup per slice of bread. If I was cooking for the team, that would be about three altogether, maybe a splash more. Since it’s just the two of us about three quarters will do,” I replied, handing her the brown sugar. “Need you to measure that out while I get the griddle hot.”

“All right,” she agreed, working with methodical precision. I dropped butter into the skillet and swirled it around letting it melt before I spoke again.

“Simone, how long were you married?” I asked as lightly as I could. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her stiffen a bit but she finished with the brown sugar and took a breath.

“Eleven years,” she replied. “My mother knew Hugo through one of the supper clubs in Las Vegas, and when I was in my pre-med classes she began to talk to me about . . . dating him. At the time I didn’t realize . . .” she trailed off and handed me the brown sugar.

“Didn’t realize?” I prompted, feeling a suspicion arise.

“That they’d already reached an agreement,” Simone finished. She looked up at me and I saw a flare of pain and anger in her eyes. “My mother had gotten a diagnosis of emphysema and rheumatoid arthritis, so she needed specialized care. We . . . didn’t have much money. Showgirls don’t make much and certainly don’t have health coverage. At that time I had a . . . job that covered some of it, but not the medicines and treatments my mother needed. So one evening over dinner, Hugo explained that he would be willing to support my mother if I would marry him. In the beginning it was very cordial.”

I whisked the brown sugar into the half and half, still not looking at her. “I’m betting _that_ changed.”

She fiddled with one of the broken eggshells. “It did. Between finishing up my residency and my mother’s illness, I was stretched thin for time and emotion. Hugo was impatient. He wanted to start a family to carry on his name.”

I looked up. Simone rolled her eyes. “No. I took birth control pills. He suspected but couldn’t prove it, which did not help matters. For nine years, every Friday night we had sex. Or rather, _he_ had sex. I just lay there and let him.”

I uttered a pretty strong four-letter word as I set the batter aside and came over to her. Simone reached up, resting her hands on my shoulders. Not quite holding me back, but making me look her in the eyes. “Dwayne, I am _fine._ Really. I stayed with him for my mother’s sake. When she passed away I began steps to divorce him but then . . . he developed brain tumors. Bad ones. Now he was an old man with nobody else to care for him and even though I didn’t _love_ him, I understood what my duty was. I was his _wife_ , so I stayed with him until he died. And _that’s_ what my marriage was.”

Her voice wavered, and I knew she was trying not to cry. I slipped my arms around her, pulling Simone close, trying like hell to leech some of that bottled pain out of her. Dear God, I couldn’t _imagine_ it. Nine years of passionless sex. Nine years of being someone’s trophy instead of a lover. And those last two years—

“He hit you,” I whispered, feeling Simone tense.

She twisted, glancing up at me. “How did you hear about that?”

“Your x-ray. It showed your arm’s been broken before,” I told her. “Don’t be mad; Loretta spotted it. We agreed to stay quiet.”

Simone took a shuddery breath. “When I fell on the floor. That’s how I knew it was broken. I’d been through it before and recognized the pain. Yes Hugo hit me. He had an aluminum cane but I took it away after the first time. The tumors made him hard to control, hard to deal with.” 

“I don’t care! He shouldn’t have touched you!” I snapped, stroking her back. “I know it’s wrong of me but I’m glad he’s dead; saves me the job right there.”

Simone was about to say something when she gave a yelp and pulled away from me. “Oh! The pan! It’s . . . !”

I looked over as the smoke alarm went off and big rolls of smoke rose from the griddle. Moving quickly I grabbed a potholder and took it off the flames, throwing some of the flour on it before carrying it to the sink. Simone tried to get to the smoke alarm but I was taller and managed to flick it off. The two of us looked at each other and burst out laughing.

High emotion. We’d gone from something deadly serious to something intensely stupid and that loop de loop gave Simone the giggles. She shook all over when she did that, which was sexy as hell, so I took her in my arms again and kissed her, feeling her splutters die down as the kiss deepened.

I purely adored her. Funny and sexy and cute as hell. Brave, too, despite the misguided loyalty. Hugo Hiver never deserved her and it was a wonder she’d survived him. 

“Okay then,” I told her. “You never have to say another word about the man. I for one am glad your marriage is over.”

She gave a sigh of agreement. “Oh me too. In fact—I am _never_ getting married again.”


	14. Chapter 14

I understood _why_ Simone felt that way but it still took me aback. I rinsed out the pan and cleaned it as I spoke. “Never’s a pretty long time, and you’re still young, Simone.”

“Not _that_ young,” she sighed, reaching for a dishtowel. “I’m still coming to grips with that.”

“Preachin’ to the choir,” I mumbled, handing her the griddle and watching her dry it off. “Never is just sort of an _extreme_ word, I guess.”

“I have extreme _feelings_ on the matter,” Simone pointed out, but she smiled. “Please don’t worry; I’m enjoying my liberty. So . . . we start again?”

I took the griddle and headed back to the oven. “We start again,” I agreed.

The toast turned out perfectly and we ate, keeping the conversation light as we did. Simone seemed thoughtful, shooting me cautious looks before finally clearing her throat. “Dwayne,” she murmured, coming over from where she sat, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I countered automatically.

“For everything,” Simone went on. “For last night, and this morning, and breakfast. I’m so grateful for all of it.”

Suddenly I didn’t like where this conversation sounded like it was going. I sighed. “If there’s a ‘but’ coming, I really don’t want to hear it,” I told her.

Simone’s eyebrows went up, and she pursed her mouth. “Is that so?”

“It is. ‘But’ would mean you actually have regrets or second thoughts and I _don’t_ ,” I told her. “I do not have any issues whatsoever with what we’ve done and what we’ve become, Simone. And before you say anything else, give it some time,” I added. “We’ve been through a lot in the last couple of hours. Might want to let it percolate a bit.”

She ran her warm fingers along my cheekbone, holding my gaze. “You are very stubborn.”

“So are you. Part of why we’re good for each other.”

That got a little nod. “True. All right, Dwayne, I’ll . . . let it simmer. In the meantime however, I think we need to keep our . . . arrangement . . . between ourselves. For discretion’s sake.”

I agreed. “Yep. I’m not about to kiss and tell.”

Simone wrinkled her nose at me. “And my homework?”

“Read up on bread,” I told her. “We’re going to make baguettes next Saturday.”

Simone bounced up and down. “Oh! I always _wanted_ to make bread!”

Never thought I’d see her do that but it was worth looking at, especially since she wasn’t wearing a bra. She caught my smirk and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to scowl but not quite making it. Simone blew a dark curl out of her eyes and added, “Stop staring; you’ve seen them before.”

“Not in action,” I teased, and got an arm swat for that.

\--oo0oo—

The following week I had court appearances and paperwork followed by three cases that didn’t involve any bodies. On the flip side there had been a bus collision in mid-city with lots of fatalities that kept Loretta and Simone pretty busy. I knew better than to stop by even though I wanted to, and all my time waiting to be called to testify meant I was alone with my thoughts most of the week.

Had some fantastic memories, and I spent time with those, but I also had some issues I needed to unknot, as my mother would have said. Namely how I felt about Simone, because it was definitely complicated. A whole lot stronger than ‘like’ that was for damned certain. We had an attraction; an understanding; a bond. If I’d been younger I would have called it love but I’d seen too many situations were that word had been misused and inaccurate. 

And I was pretty sure if I _said_ it to her, she’d panic.

I didn’t want her to panic. I didn’t want Simone to pull away just as we were becoming close, no. If it took cooking lessons to draw her in, I’d keep them up, and maybe convince her we could see each other outside of that. Build on what we had so to speak. 

While I was chewing all this over, I got a call from Laurel. Mostly it was to thank me for straightening out the credit card issue, and I appreciated being appreciated for that. We talked for a while and out of the blue my daughter asked if I’d started dating yet.

“Kind of a personal question, isn’t it?” I managed, mostly because I wondered if I’d been busted.

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Laurel chirped. “I thought so. Did the website work?”

“No, I took that _down_ and don’t ever want to see it go back _up_ , thank you,” I replied a little testily. “I don’t need anyone to advertise my charms on an internet billboard.”

“Dad!” Laurel laughed and it felt good to hear it. “That’s the _point_! You’ve got tons of charms and . . . well . . . mom’s moved on. You should too. You’re too great a guy to be alone, you know?”

“Laurel, I’m fine. _You’re_ the one who should be out there dating and falling in love. Gettin’ married and having babies—not right _now_ of course but eventually,” I added with a wince.

“I do not have _time_ for that right now,” my daughter assured me. “You’ll have babies before _I_ do, Dad.”

“Sorry, my child-rearing days are through,” I told Laurel, amused at the very idea. “You broke me with your Barbie tea parties and boy bands and softball games.”

She laughed. “That’s why I know you’re still good for it; I trained you _well_.”

We chatted a bit more and said goodbye; I stared at the phone for a moment, wondering how the conversation had wandered into such bizarre territory. Laurel had never been shy about wanting a brother or sister but somehow Linda and I never seemed to agree on it at the same time and now it was too late. I regretted that a bit; having brothers and sisters myself I knew siblings were good thing and I was sorry Laurel never had that experience.

Then later in the day when I picked up the mail and found the stiff white envelope with the calligraphy, I understood the conversation a little better.

\--oo00oo—

“So you plan on going?” Loretta prodded me. We were at one of the tables in the early Friday afternoon, sharing beers and enjoying the sunshine coming through the bar. It wasn’t open yet of course but would be in a few hours.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s her wedding. I can’t very well say _no_ , now can I?”

Loretta gave a little murmur. I took a sip of my beer and added, “I mean I _could_ but Laurel will be there and a lot of our friends and it’s only right to show up. Tim seems like a good man and if he plans on making Linda happy, so be it, right?” 

“True,” Loretta agreed. She shot me a sidelong glance. “So who are you taking?”

“Taking?”

“Your plus one,” Loretta pointed out. “I’m sure Linda’s invitation included anyone you wanted to bring.”

“I hadn’t planned on taking anyone,” I admitted. “Unless _you_ want to go.”

“Wish I could but I’m off to an overnight science camp with CJ,” Loretta told me. “We’ve had it on the calendar for weeks.”

She said nothing.

I said nothing.

But it was the WAY Loretta said nothing that finally made me grumble. “No. Don’t even think it.”

“I can _think_ whatever I want, Dwayne. You just don’t want me to _suggest_ it,” she grinned.

“I don’t want you to suggest it because it would make matters . . . awkward,” I sighed. “You know as well as I do that if I show up with her at Linda’s wedding people are going to make assumptions. The smart thing would be to go by myself and get on with it.”

“That’s one option,” Loretta agreed. “But let me say this: if you show up by yourself, you’re going to be . . . _pitied_ , Dwayne. People know you’re her ex, and showing up alone makes it look like you’re still pining for her.”

“I’m _not_ ,” I protested. Oh I might have a pang now and again; nobody gets out of that many years of a marriage without them, but in all honesty I was pretty resigned to the divorce. Linda had always been upfront about the reasons and it was the right call, ultimately.

Loretta laid a hand on my arm. “ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that. But I also know it will be a long afternoon and facing it by yourself will be hard. Why not take a friend? And remember,” she added, “Neither of you have to answer any questions you don’t want to. That alone will drive some of them crazy you know.”

Well she’d planted the idea but good, and frankly it appealed to me in a slightly evil way. I’m not saying that Linda invited me out of pity; we still had a friendly relationship. But I’m sure she expected me come alone, and it sure would feel good to debunk that assumption.

And it would be a first step in seeing Simone outside of Saturday lessons. So With that in mind, I made it a point to ask just as we measured out the flour.

\--oo00oo--

“A wedding?” Simone gave me a sharp look. “Who is getting married?”

“Linda, my ex,” I replied, eyeing the dissolved yeast and adding a teaspoon of salt to the watery mix. “Next Saturday in fact, over at Saint Mary’s Assumption on Constance Street.”

“And you’re _going_?” Simone sounded surprised. 

I gave a shrug. “Laurel will be there and I don’t want to disappoint her. Besides, Linda and I get along. I’m happy for her.”

Simone watched me add the water and begin stirring the dough, putting a little muscle into it as it thickened up. “You’re a far more gracious person than I would be,” she finally said. “But surely there’s someone else . . . Loretta perhaps?”

“She’s got a previous engagement that weekend,” I grunted, scooping out the dough and slamming it onto the counter with a little more force than necessary. “And I know it’s asking a lot, but I really don’t want to go alone . . .”

That’s part of what I adored about Simone. She caught on quick. “Ohh, yes. That . . . would not be much fun.”

“Nope,” I motioned her closer. “All right, you push with the heels of your hands in a firm sorta shove. Do it twice and then give it a quarter turn, like this.”

We managed to get the dough kneaded, and I set it to rise when Simone shyly put her arms around me in a hug. Gently I hugged her back, savoring this simple affection. “You okay?”

“Long week,” Simone admitted, pressing her head against my chest. “Too many bodies to deal with and . . . I missed you.”

“Missed you too, but . . . I’m here right now,” I pointed out quietly, kissing her temple. “Dough needs to rise for about ninety minutes.”

“Oh good,” Simone smiled up at me. “Enough time for a nap.”

I stared at her. “A _nap_?”

She let her hands slip down and grabbed my ass, squeezing it. “A nap with _benefits_.” 

“Benefits,” I murmured, my own hands slipping up under the back of her shirt for her brassiere hooks. “That’s _my_ sort of nap.”


	15. Chapter 15

The long and the short of it; Simone agreed to go with me to Linda’s wedding. I prepped her on who would probably be there and what to expect before she left with two baguettes and a look of trepidation.

Couldn’t blame her, actually. Knowing Linda she’d probably invited a couple of our former neighbors, and her side of the family, which meant I’d be getting everything from sympathetic pats on the back to outright hostile looks, especially from my sister-in-law Leslie. She’d always thought Linda was too good for me and was never shy of saying so.

But I knew my duty here and in a bittersweet way it would be the final break between us, which was overdue I suppose. Life has a way of moving on even if we’re not always particularly happy about the direction it takes. And in my case things were looking up with Simone having my back.

Things had quieted down, work-wise and I sent LaSalle to a training refresher along with Gregorio while Percy and I manned the fort. Most of that was catching up on files, going out to the range and cleaning, which was about as much fun as it sounds like. I was already planning out Thanksgiving and Sonja was debating on whether to bring dirty rice or cornbread when she shot me a knowing look.

“So . . . is Ms Hiver on the guest list?”

“Most likely,” I replied, doing my best to keep casual “why?”

“I hear she doesn’t cook,” Sonja replied. “Is that true?”

“It is, alas, _true_ ,” I admitted. “These character flaws happen.”

“So what’s she gonna bring?” Sonja wanted to know. “I hear the host is damned _picky_ about good food and I’d hate to think she’s getting a pass because she’s _pretty_.” She grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.

“Wine,” I told Sonja. “And _nobody_ gets a seat at my table just for being pretty. I’d be out of chairs in a heartbeat.”

“I’m gonna tell LaSalle you said that,” she replied, flicking a dust rag at me. 

“Why? Hoping to make him jealous, or just building up his ego?” I snickered.

Percy laughed. “Knowing him, both. He _is_ kinda fond of his reflection in his rearview mirror.”

“Well we’ll see if his collard greens match his looks this year, but I’m betting they both come in second . . . _again_.”

And at that Percy laughed so hard she nearly dropped the dustrag.

\--oo00oo—

There were clouds, and a threat of rain but I managed to get us to St. Mary’s before putting the top up on the car. Simone looked damned pretty in a lilac dress and white gloves; that particular touch reminded me of my mother, heading to church on a Sunday and I told Simone so. 

She gave a shrug. “Very Catholic, very French. I’d have a lace shawl too but I don’t want to be mistaken for the bride.”

“So you’re Catholic?” I asked, curious.

Simone shrugged. “Nominally. Enough so to appreciate the churches here in New Orleans. You?”

“Non-practicing,” I told her. “I believe in God; I just don’t visit his house that often.”

There were other folks heading into the church and I turned to Simone. She was looking at me solemnly and stepped closer, her voice low. “I’m here for you, _mon cher_. Just tell me what you need.”

Her kindness touched me deeply, and I took in a deep breath. “Just standing with me helps. Maybe a distraction or two if I get a little melancholy at the reception. We won’t stay long, I promise.”

She nodded, and took the arm I offered her as we headed into the church.

Bride’s side of course; I slipped into one of the pews near the back, well away from Linda’s family, who were all clustered up front. Simone pulled down a kneeler and began to pray while I sat and tried to figure out how I felt. 

By rights I should have felt a little sad, maybe a little angry and resigned. I’d kinda earned the right to feel those emotions given how the last three years had gone. I’d been faithful to Linda in our marriage; I’d tried to make her happy and treated her with the respect and love she deserved, but it hadn’t been enough, apparently. I couldn’t understand how she could tolerate my job for over twenty years and then just as Laurel left for college, decide my work was too dangerous for her to accept.

But the separation had done me good, too. I’d gotten to see that Linda and I had grown apart, and come to accept that both of us had different priorities now. We’d always share Laurel and we’d both appreciate what we’d had, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there was some relief in me now too. Linda had chosen to start out on a new life and I was glad of it.

Simone finished and moved to sit next to me in the pew, looking around with interest at the church. I noted there were lots of folks on the groom’s side, most of them civic leader types. Laurel showed up, giving Simone the curious once-over as I introduced them, and she sat on the other side of me, which was comforting too.

And the ceremony got underway. Linda looked beautiful of course and the whole service was pared down from what _we’d_ gone through years ago. I put an arm around Laurel and held Simone’s hand during the last part of it. Even made it a point to smile when the new Mr. and Mrs. LeBeau came back down the aisle. 

And it was good. I found I didn’t have any regrets; Linda was happy and I was too.

\--oo00oo—

The reception hall was crowded and I promised Simone we wouldn’t stay more than an hour. She agreed and we found a table in one of the corners, out of the way but near the music. Laurel made her way over to us and I could tell she had a thousand questions but Simone was good about deflecting them and got my daughter talking about herself, which was smart.

I excused myself and went to go congratulate Linda, getting the duty part out of the way. She saw me and hugged me close, both of us in that bittersweet moment before she looked over at Laurel and Simone.

“I thought you’d bring Loretta?” Linda wanted to know, looking curious and maybe a tad uncertain.

“She sends her regrets; couldn’t make it,” I murmured. “That’s the assistant coroner, Doctor Hiver.”

“Ah,” Linda replied, still looking confused. “Seems . . . nice.”

I didn’t want to get into exactly _how_ nice Simone was so I just nodded. “Yep. So . . . make sure Tim treats you good, all right?”

She stopped staring and looked at me, chuckling. “Yep, he will. And thank you for being here, Dwayne. Means a lot to me and Laurel.” 

I got a kiss on the cheek and that was that. I made a detour, picked up some champagne on the way back and handed a glass each to Simone and Laurel. My daughter gave me a grin and I knew I’d be teased a bit but I waved her off and she headed out across the hall, leaving us to our bubbly. 

“Your daughter is a lively one,” Simone noted, taking a sip. 

“Stubborn,” I admitted. “Headstrong. That’s mostly from me.” 

“She asked me if I was your girlfriend,” Simone went on, looking serene. “I told her we have a different sort of relationship that didn’t fit that particular paradigm.” 

“And what did she say to _that_?” I wanted to know. Under the table I felt Simone’s hand drop lightly on my thigh and stroke it, sending tingles through me much like the champagne. 

“She said that was obfuscation on my part and smirked at me. Your child is too smart by _half_ , Mr. Pride.” Those fingers of her stroked upwards and along the inside of my thigh, the heat seeping through my slacks. 

“Playing with fire there, Doctor Hiver,” I kept my voice low. 

She laughed. With her other hand she held out something, urging me to take it from her. I felt something warm and silky drop into my palm and realized what it was just as my former sister-in-law wobbled over, already into her fourth glass of champagne. 

Shit. 

Quickly I shoved Simone’s panties into my pocket, trying not to get caught and feeling a surge of amused lust for the woman next to me; the one looking completely innocent. Part of my brain realized Simone had no underwear on while the other part warned me that Leslie was glaring at me. 

“You showed _up_. Color me surprised,” Leslie slurred. “What Linda ever saw in you I don’t know.” 

“Good to see you _too_ , Leslie,” I managed, caught between annoyance and arousal. “I’m here because I was invited.” 

“ _Told_ Linda it was a mistake. And with a _guest_ too,” she sneered. “Didn’t take _you_ long, did it?” 

“For what?” Simone asked sweetly. “I’m just standing in for the coroner.” 

I wanted to laugh at how Leslie blinked. “Er, really?” 

“Yes. Annnd if your sister got married _today_ , then technically _she_ moved on first, yes?” 

Leslie scowled. “That’s not the _point_. The _point_ is, Dwayne’s not _welcome_ here.” 

Double shit; this was shaping up to be a fight—the last thing Linda needed today. I rose up and looked at Simone. “It’s all right; we probably should go.” 

“Certainly,” Simone murmured and rose up too. She slipped out from behind the table and looked at Leslie, eyeing her from top to bottom and back again. “Please give your sister my best wishes, and personally? If I _ever_ hear you say another rude thing to this man I will drop you like the ugly slab of concrete you are, _chienne_.” 

“Whaa?” Leslie stared and I stood there, not sure whether to laugh or drag Simone away; she looked wonderfully fierce with her hard stare and sweet smile. I had the beginnings of an erection sure enough. 

I tried to herd Simone out, but Leslie reached over and caught the sleeve of her dress, tugging. “Hey! _What_ did you say, _bitch_?” 

The fabric ripped, and for a second all three of us froze. 

Then Simone turned, and I watched her jab a low hard punch deep into my former sister-in-law’s gut in a one-two action worth of a prizefighter. She pulled back just as Leslie bent forward, and threw up all the champagne, half-chewed shrimp puffs and wet Caesar salad strands in a cascade all over the reception hall floor. 

Everyone backed up while Leslie staggered and fell on our table, tipping it over in a crash of glass. I reached for Leslie as Simone called out, “Oh, she’s _sick_! Is there anyone who can get a doctor? Or call an ambulance?” 

A few people rushed over and in the confusion, I tugged Simone with me out of the reception all and into the heavy rain outside. I had her by the wrist and nearly dragged her to the car even though she was trying to keep up, and when I dug the keys out of my pocket Simone’s underwear fell to the gravel. 

“Damn it!” I huffed, caught again between laughing and cursing as I picked it up, “What the hell did you DO?” 

“Jab,” Simone told me. “A boxer showed me. Low blow, just under the stomach; hit it right and everything comes up. She _deserved_ it Dwayne. You know she did!” 

I got her into the car and climbed in myself, slamming the door. Both of us wet and spluttering with laughter. Simone looked gorgeous with her curls all wet and her eyes bright as she fiddled with her torn sleeve. 

“You can’t just _punch_ people who don’t _like_ me, _minou_ ,” I tried to tell her. “For _one_ thing, there are too many of them. Nearly all of the criminals in New Orleans for one, let alone Leslie.” 

“I will punch them _all_ then. Good thing I started with her. Nobody should _ever_ speak to you like that, Dwayne. You are . . .” 

She didn’t get to finish because I kissed her. 


	16. Chapter 16

Simone tasted like champagne, which was a great flavor added to her own sweetness. Knowing she wasn’t wearing panties fueled my desire and I slid a hand up her thigh and under her skirt just to confirm it.

Oh yes, nothing but bare skin and soft curls. I growled as a fresh surge of lust flared through me. “We’re getting out of here,” I told her.

Simone leaned back on the seat, head back, eyes closed. “God yes. My place, please?”

I drove, pushing the speed limit which wasn’t a great idea given the rain but the recklessness in me was taking over, not helped one damned bit by Simone’s hand on my crotch. There was something kinda thrilling to it all; the danger and lust all mingled with another emotion deep underneath. The downpour grew, with lightning flashing by the time we made it to Simone’s house. Both of us were drenched seconds after we got out of the car, and she stood there looking up, smiling as that thin wet dress clung to her like a second skin.

“What the hell are you _doing_?” I bellowed at her over the boom of thunder.

She laughed. “Rain!” Simone lifted her arms. “I hardly ever saw it as a girl. It’s glorious!”

I strode over and scooped her up over my shoulder, exasperated. Simone squeaked, squirming a little and I made it a point to grab her ass as I went up the porch steps, setting her down again when we were out of the downpour.

“Very caveman of you,” she laughed, working the key into the lock and pushing open the door. I crowded in behind her and pulled her into my arms before she’d even reached the light switch so we were in semi-darkness.

“Honestly, I ought to _paddle_ your behind for that stunt,” I growled down into her face, feeling a renewed sense of heat all through my body.

She looked pleased by that threat. “Oooh yes, please. _Which_ stunt? Punching your former sister-in-law?”

“Not that one,” I replied, digging her delicate underwear out yet again from my pocket and dangling them from my finger. “The _other_ one.”

“Oh _that_ one,” Simone giggled. “Well you _said_ you wanted a distraction, Dwayne. I’m sure that fit the bill.”

“You could _say_ that,” I grunted, pushing her back against the wall near the door, making sure she knew exactly how distracted I’d gotten. “Yeah, seems to have . . . worked.”

She wriggled against me and despite our wet clothing the friction was pretty blatant. “Not sorry, mon cher. I am a very _bad_ woman sometimes.”

I braced my hands on the wall, trapping her there. “That you are,” I nipped the side of her sleek neck, making Simone shudder. “Oh that you _are_.”

Things got a little feral at that point; I heard the plink of buttons hitting the floor as Simone struggled to get my shirt off, and I wasn’t much gentler with her dress, peeling it off her to get to that sweet skin underneath. She kept kissing me in every place but my lips until I pinned her to the wall and shoved my mouth to hers, drinking in her moans as lightning flashed outside.

Simone wriggled, gasping for breath when I finally broke that kiss, and we looked at each other, just on that knife edge of hard desire where nothing else is in focus. She shivered, nipples hard as pebbles pressing against my chest. “Please,” Simone begged. “Spank me.”

What the hell _was_ it about this woman that had me so enthralled? Any other time I would have stopped right there; I don’t hit women. _Ever_. But the lustful gleam in Simone’s eyes goaded me on and seemed to promise it really was what she wanted.

Worse, my own body throbbed at the thought and I felt myself stiffen further, prick pressing hard against Simone’s thigh even through my wet slacks. “You _sure_ about that?” I rasped into one of her delicate ears. “Because I’m _not_ in a gentle mood here.”

She whimpered, swallowing hard; the rush I felt seeing that was insane—like the fire of hard liquor on an empty stomach. “Yesss,” Simone admitted, squirming against me. The thunder boomed, as I tugged her from the wall, spun her and directed two quick hard smacks on that pretty ass of hers.

My hand stung; I’d swatted her good, but Simone gave a sweet little cry and quivered, clutching the arm that was holding her. I felt her nails dig in and that added pain felt almost nice. She threw herself at me and this time _I_ was the one against the wall, knocking a frame off it under the force of her sweet assault.

More kisses, ripping cloth and somehow we made it to her sofa in a desperate tangle of limbs. Under me Simone wrapped her legs around my waist, practically panting by now and I wasn’t much more in control myself, giving into the sort of desperate hunger I hadn’t felt in years. The taste of Simone; the scent and damned heat of the woman drove me hard and she groaned as she guided me into the slickness between her thighs.

Sometimes in life you’re reduced to your most animal self, right down to the sweat and grunts and blinding pleasure of slick, senseless desire. All I wanted was to drive myself into Simone, take her hard and lose myself in the sullen pulses of my orgasm deep within her snug body, so I did for long, blind minutes.

She came just as hard as I did, and damn I felt the squeeze of her legs around me, the rippling tension stroking my prick in the aftermath leaving me with aftershocks of intense pleasure as I collapsed on her. The sofa was well-upholstered as was Simone, who was as spent as I was. We lay like that, wrung out and useless while outside the wind picked up even as the storm continued.

I was out for a while and so was she, the two of us still joined in a slick mess. Powerful as it was, the aftermath of a session like that is _never_ romantic or pretty. I knew I had to move and let the woman breathe, so eventually I shifted, peeling myself away and feeling a wave of shame so strong it was like a physical blow to the stomach.

Jesus H. what the _hell_ had I just _done_? I sat up, running my hands through my hair, wondering what I could say when Simone stirred and shifted, sitting up as well. She tried to cuddle up to me but I flinched and I know she felt it.

“Dwayne, _roi de mon coeur_ , please talk to me,” Simone murmured softly. “This is important.”

I turned my face to look at her, feeling numb. “I’ve . . . I’ve never done anything like this before in my _life_ ,” I blurted. “God! Simone, I am so, so sorry--”

She cut me off with a kiss, warm and sweet, arms coming up around my shoulders, stroking them gently and I relaxed a little, still confused but not quite as panicked as I’d been a moment earlier.

Simone nuzzled my cheek. “I’m _not_ sorry. Not one damned _bit_ , Dwayne. This was what _I_ started; this was what I _wanted_ and _needed_. Oh you were amazing, _mon cher_!” she purred, climbing into my lap and burrowing into my arms. I let her, feeling a little stunned.

“But . . .” I protested, “I . . . damn it, I _hit_ you!” The shame of it washed over me.

Simone chuckled softly. “No, you _spanked_ me. I _deserved_ it and I _begged_ for it as we both know. And frankly, I _adored_ it. Dwayne---” she caught my face in her hands, forcing me to look into her eyes. “I. Am. Kinky, remember? The sting of your smacks put me riiiight on the edge. So delicious, so _perfect_! Please, don’t you _dare_ feel guilty for giving me that. I know you’d never hit _too_ hard; I know you’d never do it unless I _asked_.” Her voice got slower and lower. “And I know you liked it too. I _felt_ it.”

I didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t deny it, but in the aftermath . . . it was going to take some getting used to. Simone held me for a while and then quietly murmured. “Let’s take a bath and go to bed.”

\--oo00oo—

I was not prepared for Simone’s bathroom; I hadn’t seen it when she’d given me the tour months ago and clearly it was where she’d sunk her money. A huge clawfoot tub over six feet long took up most of the room. She had hanging ferns and the toilet was tucked away behind a screen, along with towels and rugs and all the normal things you’d expect in a bathroom. But lord, that tub—

“I know it’s extravagant, but I like baths,” she told me as she sat on the edge, dropped the plug in and turned on the water. “I find them much more relaxing than showers.”

We both fit. I leaned back, spooning Simone as we got used to the heat, relaxing bit by bit. I liked the freckles spattered across her shoulders, and the sweet curls at the nape of her neck. I was a lot calmer now, content to hold her and not talk; letting her soap us up and splash a little, humming a tune.

After a while I made her lean back against me, and spoke softly in her ear. “Thank you.”

Simone turned to look at me, dimples deep. “Darling you are welcome. I think we are going to prunify, though, if we stay in much longer.”

Something nagged at the back of my mind, and it wasn’t until I sat on the edge of the bed that it came to me. I saw the nightstand and that brought images to mind along with a flash of panic. I turned to look at Simone, who was already under the covers, beckoning me.

“Shit. We . . . _I_ didn’t use a condom,” I pointed out, my mouth dry. “Simone--”

I watched her take a deep breath. “Oh. Yes, well, I’m due to start my period in about three days.”

“Cutting it close,” I warned, feeling anxious. Simone threw back the covers and patted the mattress. 

“Not as much as you think, and I can always get a morning-after pill if that’s what you want,” she told me quietly. “If that would reassure you.”

I slid into bed, still concerned. “It may be best. After all, I don’t think you want to end up . . . pregnant.”

I rolled to look at her and Simone gave a slow nod. “True. Now would not be a good time for that.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, but she slid along my left side, resting a hand on my chest and added, “I did buy condoms. And no, they are not Bonne Nuit in case you were wondering.”

“You bought them to make animals?” I joked quietly, holding her.

She laughed. “I think we can find a better use for them, don’t you?”


	17. Chapter 17

I woke up first. It’s amazing how much you forget when you’ve been sleeping alone, like how having another warm naked body next to you feels damned good. I know other folks go to bed in pajamas or shorts but frankly I’ve always been a fan of bare skin, and Simone was a little radiator—plenty warm.

Shifting carefully to my side I watched her sleep, studying her for a while as she lay on her back, breathing softly. Enjoyed what I saw, too. Simone was full of slopes and dips, her frame strong. I loved the way her breasts felt in my hands; loved the deep dimples at the base of her spine; the way her waist curved in under her ribs and flared out again at her hips. Up close I could see how thick her eyelashes were, and the saucy tilt of her nose.

Experimentally I tugged the coverlet down, exposing more of her torso, amused at the flicker of annoyance across her sleeping face. One hand sleepily grabbed for it, trying to pull it up again, but I slid closer and Simone snuggled against me instead making little contented noises.

How could I resist that? When you get down to it, all any of us really want is to be wanted. To feel needed by someone else. I nuzzled her hairline, breathing in the scent of her hair and let myself think about a few things I hadn’t before . . . like the future.

Like the fact that she wasn’t seriously upset about possibly being pregnant.

And _that_ was a bittersweet can of worms, honestly. I wasn’t about to delude myself: I’m old. Old enough to be a grandparent. I’ve had my shot at fatherhood and Laurel has always been the dearest thing I’ve ever managed in that department. I was sure that aspect of my life was over and done; that I’d had my run of parenthood, the end.

But first Laurel’s comments in her phone call, and now Simone’s nonchalance had me a little flummoxed. Sure it was biologically possible, I knew that. But a second chance? A second . . . family?

I needed coffee.

Because the reality was . . . I liked being a dad. No, the reality was I _loved_ being a dad. God’s honest truth, I had no problem when Sebastian had called me ‘dad.’ He and the rest of the team . . . yeah I thought of them as my kids, and treated them that way at times. Coached them, consoled them, fed them, kept an eye on them. Second nature. Been doing it all my life for the folks I considered family.

I can’t take full credit for how Laurel turned out; Linda had a hell of a _lot_ to do with it, but I played my part as well. And if Laurel was supportive of half-brothers or sisters . . . I shook my head, bemused at these thoughts.

It was out of the question. Just lazy daydreams on my part because men my age didn’t _have_ kids. The job was too dangerous; the hours too long; the lifestyle too unstable. Better to keep to the status quo and leave fatherhood to men Christopher’s age. His chances of seeing a child through college were greater than mine at this point.

Besides, Simone had made it clear she wasn’t going to get re-married, and I’d be _damned_ if I’d father a child without some sort of formal commitment. That’s not the sort of man I was or would _ever_ be, so that was that. No marriage, no kids, but at least there was someone sweet in my bed and that helped. I cuddled closer to Simone and closed my eyes again.

\--oo00oo—

There were a few more items in Simone’s refrigerator now. Water and oranges were still there, but I saw eggs, cheese, a very sad looking bunch of spinach and a jar of peanut butter, which I took out and set in a cupboard, shaking my head.

There was a coffeemaker too, with a rack of pods for it so I selected one and popped it in. “Do you want coffee?” I called towards the living room and heard an affirmative hum.

Simone was busy sewing the buttons back on my shirt, looking very domestic as she did so. As a matter of practicality I did have a change of clothes in the car; you learn to be prepared when you’re in a job like mine, so I was dressed. Simone was too in an oversized sweater and leggings, sitting cross-legged on the very sofa we’d debauched the night before. I leaned against the kitchen doorway and looked at her just as she finished the last button.

“There. I have righted the wrong I have done,” Simone announced, smoothing the shirt down. “All mended.”

“We did go a bit savage, didn’t we?” I murmured, crossing the room to drop myself next to her.

“Yes,” she agreed, catching my glance and smiling. “But I don’t regret it at all. It was . . . a night to remember.”

“On several levels,” I nodded. “Simone . . . what did you mean when you said now wouldn’t be a good time for that?”

She ducked her head and busied herself with her sewing basket, putting the thread away. It tickled me that she had one—not many women knew how to sew by hand anymore, and the last basket I’d seen had been my mother’s. Even Linda didn’t sew.

“Ah, well . . . I’m still settling into this job and this city,” she replied vaguely. “Not really ready for the next big step in my life, you know?”

“Which would be?” I prompted. I’m pretty good at getting answers to questions, even when I have suspicions. The hesitation dragged out until Simone took in a deep breath and lifted her head.

“I _do_ want to have a baby. Hear me out though,” she added, shifting to look at me. “I would never EVER coerce or use you, Dwayne. Not _ever_. I have been the victim of lies and coercion myself and I made a promise I’d never do it to anyone else, let along someone I care for. I’ll be going to the pharmacy this morning for two doses of levonorgestrel and you can come with me if you like.”

I nodded, my stomach tense. “All right. But . . . you want a child?”

She brightened. “Yes, I do. I think children are wonderful. I studied to be a pediatrician in the beginning, but took a detour into forensic pathology, which is rewarding in a different way. I . . . well, I didn’t want children in my marriage, not with Hugo. Given how he was, it would have been a _terrible_ mistake.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” I agreed, slipping an arm around her. “Good decision there.”

“Yes. So after he died, I started to consider what I wanted in life,” Simone sighed. “And mostly what I wanted was a second chance. New job, new city, new life, I suppose. New Orleans is so very different from Las Vegas. It’s old and vibrant and wild and yet genteel too. I know I made a good choice coming here.”

I waited, knowing there was more. Simone started to look uncomfortable. “Annnd . . . I figured in that second chance, I could also start a family. I spent time researching the local fertility clinics here. The one on Magnolia, and Hope Women’s clinic.”

“Go on,” I urged her, feeling a strange twist of pain in my chest. Simone rubbed her eyes.

“I was looking at donors too. And then _you_ talked me into cooking lessons and I had less time to do research. I didn’t know where we were going and I wasn’t about to put you on the spot because ethically, morally, emotionally, that wouldn’t be _fair_ , Dwayne. My intention from the very beginning was to have a baby by myself, the way my mother did. With a donor there wouldn’t be any . . . complications. Nobody to make demands or threats. And I’d have someone of my own to love.”

“So let me get this straight,” I rumbled. “You want a baby, but you don’t want a husband. You want a child, but on your own terms.”

She blinked, and I saw how wet her eyes were; how close Simone was to crying. “Yes,” she whispered.

I said nothing for a while, trying to take it all in, trying to make sense of it.

“Simone,” I finally managed, “Where the hell do _I_ fit in, then?”

She did sob then. “I don’t _know_!” Simone sniffled. “I didn’t _plan_ on meeting someone like you, _mon cher_! You took me completely by surprise, and I didn’t know how to _say_ anything to you, especially since I know you don’t want anymore childr--”

“--Stop!” I told her. “Right _there_. I never _said_ that. Never even _talked_ about kids other than Laurel with you.” 

“But . . .” she spluttered, wiping her eyes, “I just assumed--”

“Bad habit,” I sighed. “Look, right now we’re both stressed and tired and hungry. Let’s get some breakfast and fresh air, all right? I’m not going to keep _on_ this without making sure the two of us are in our right minds.”

Simone nodded.

\--oo00oo—

I took her for beignets at a little café near the university. It was early enough that we were alone and carried our pastries to one of the tables outside. The storm had passed, sunshine put a sparkle on the distant waters of the lake and there was enough of a breeze to keep things cool. I was grateful that the coffee was close to scalding and took a sip.

Simone pulled apart a beignet, nibbling at it and watching me. I finally took a breath, feeling a little more settled. “Okay then. I’m gonna lay this out so we can get it straight. I . . . feel strongly about you, Simone. _More_ than just the sexual attraction although that’s kind of the icing on the cake. Not sayin’ the L word because I don’t want to scare either one of us. Got that?”

She nodded, handing me a piece of pastry. I continued after eating it. “You want a baby. You’ve got your reasons and I respect everything you’ve been through to get to this point. I don’t have a problem with that particular desire. However . . . I don’t think I can handle you havin’ a baby by an anonymous donor.”

“That’s not a choice _you_ get to make,” Simone countered, looking stubborn. “Dwayne, I’m a grown woman and much as I care about you, this will be _my_ child.”

“I’m talking logistics, genetics, and emotional support,” I sighed. “Simone, taking care of a baby on your own is damned hard. I’m pretty sure your own mother would back me up on that. Single parenting, even when you think you know what you’re getting into—it’s rough. Rougher than it _needs_ to be. If you choose a donor, you’re never going to get any kind of support from the father. And that goes for matters around the baby’s health too. Lots of these places are good at screening, but what if some condition pops up and you don’t have any family history to look at? Anything from asthma to birth defects to inherited disorders?”

She pursed her lips. “I’m aware of that, yes, although my own family history isn’t . . . complete by any means. Still, all of that has crossed my mind, Dwayne. I _know_ what I’m getting into.”

“In theory,” I interjected. “And the last one’s probably the most important, _mon ange_. You’re gonna need people to lean on. At least _one_ good one. Now if you were in Las Vegas you’d have friends who’ve known you for years, but you’re in New Orleans now and you’ve only been here . . . five months? Maybe six? I know you’ve got Loretta, and maybe a few folks you’ve met on your own, but reality is . . . you’re kind of a loner.”

Simone didn’t have an answer for that, but to her credit, she nodded ever so slightly. I took another sip of coffee to clear my throat.

“What all this circles around to is that the smart choice would be if _I_ was your donor.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Dwayne . . .” she held my gaze, “I can’t do that. If you were the donor, I know surely as the sun rises in the east that you’d want . . . conditions.”

“Damn right I would,” I nodded. “Most definitely. It’s called being responsible. Taking care of your own.”

“And I’d be right back where I was _before_ ,” Simone said bleakly. “Caught in commitments created by someone else and out of my control.”

“I don’t _see_ it that way,” I said with care, pulling apart another piece of pastry. “I see you gaining much more from it. You and the baby would have a second tier of stability in your lives. You’d have extra health care and financial support; you’d have someone to help you raise the child and someone to lean on when things get overwhelming. I can do all that, even if it’s not through a marriage.”

Simone wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back. I could see the war across her face; hope versus suspicion. She slowly crossed her arms. “Why _would_ you do that? What would you be getting out of it? Pardon me for being blunt but . . . .”

“Fair question,” I rubbed my eyes. “Peace of mind, in a way. Feeling as I do about you I’d be going crazy trying to figure out when to step in and when to step back, Simone. And there’s that . . . _connection_ we already have, even if we’re sidestepping any conversation about it. It’s still there and we both _know_ it. But mostly . . . because I _want_ to. I never thought I’d get another shot and now that there’s an opportunity, I want it. More than I _realized_ , I guess.”

“I thought fatherhood drove you crazy,” Simone whispered, a ghost of a smile on her face. “All those worries and brags about Laurel?”

“It did, and it does,” I admitted. “But Lord help me, I _am_ leaning towards another ride on that particular rollercoaster. Not that it’s a done deal . . . we both have a lot to think about and sleep on here.”

Simone cocked her head, the breeze playing with her curls. “I honestly, truly did not _expect_ this of you, Dwayne. I was sure you would try to talk me _out_ of even trying to have a baby and would suggest adopting.”

“Still an option and a good one,” I assured her. “And frankly, if you’re taking on a baby--adopted or not--my offer’s still on the table.”

I watched her blink and realized she was close to tears again. I wasn’t any too stable myself; we’d covered a LOT of very emotional ground in a very short time here, so I reached over and took her hand.

“Let me take you home and we’ll give ourselves time to think, all right? We’re not gonna do anything right away; lots more to talk over before making any decisions here.”

Simone nodded, taking in a shuddering breath. “True.”

\--oo00oo—

You’d think after a conversation like that I’d be keyed up and tense; worrying and fretting and second-guessing myself. 

You’d be wrong. Sure Simone and I were talking about one, possibly two heavy duty major life decisions here, two momentous situations, but no. I’d held her tightly, kissed her soundly before I left, and found myself whistling on the drive back. Maybe it was the late autumn sunshine, or the mighty sweet memories of the night before, but I was in one of the best moods I’d been in for a long time.

It felt good to _feel_ good, frankly. The team and I had been so bogged down with cases, a lot of them filled with politics and negativity that I’d forgotten what it was like to be pleased with the world. I spent the rest of the weekend catching up on everything I’d let slide and walked into work on Monday determined to keep up.

The week had other plans of course, starting on Wednesday with a sex shop on Canal Street involving two lieutenants.

*** *** *** 

“Latex Lover Land,” Gregorio read the front window and gave one of her eye-rolls. “Looks like a real city landmahk.”

“Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places,” LaSalle muttered, but I shook my head.

“Let’s focus on the crime and not the ambience. Who are our victims?”

“The driver’s license says it’s a Lieutenant Margo Donatti,” Loretta told me as she rose up from the half-clothed body on the psychedelic carpet underfoot. “No obvious wounds, but there’s a lot of facial swelling and bruising, along with defensive injuries on her hands. I’ll know more in the lab.”

She glanced around the shop, trying not to smirk. “More latex here than in my morgue.”

“And I’m betting you don’t have this many colors or uh, shapes,” Percy added, looking amused. 

“Never say never,” Loretta responded with a look that had me laughing into the sleeve of my shirt. She was an amazing friend and terrific coroner but Loretta Wade was _also_ as earthy as they come and impossible to shock.

I walked towards the curtained booths in the back to recover some composure and saw our second partially dressed victim along with Simone, who was finishing a cursory examination of the body. She glanced up at me and smiled. “Mr. Pride. This seems to be Clyde Ingersoll and he’s . . . not going anywhere.”

“Beg pardon Miz Simone, but he’s dead, so that’s kinda a given,” LaSalle pointed out, grinning.

She shook her head and pointed to the body’s ankles. “True, but he couldn’t go anywhere prior to his death either. He’s locked in a spreader bar.”

“A what?” LaSalle asked, saving me the trouble.

Simone gave one of her sweet smiles. “A spreader bar. It’s a device to lock and keep a person’s legs wide apart. This looks to be a German made _Liebswache_ , stainless steel and padded, which is pretty much top of the line. Our Lieutenant wasn’t able to walk in this device.”

The look on young Christopher’s face was worth it as he stared at Simone. “How . . . how do you even _know_ this stuff, Miz Simone?”

She rose up, looking coy. “My first job out of high school was working for a dominatrix. I was too young to get a job in the casinos so . . .” Simone gave a little shrug. “You pick up things up.”

At this point I didn’t think the man could blush any redder, so I murmured, “Go help Percy check the perimeter.”  
LaSalle left kinda quickly and I looked at Simone. “You did that on purpose.”

She gave me a grin that was downright naughty. “Yep.”

“You’re either gonna scare him off, or lead him on,” I pointed out, fighting a smirk of my own.

“It’s good to keep young men on their toes,” Simone replied. “As for this lieutenant, I suspect he had an asthma attack. A fatal one, alas.”

“Panic-induced?”

“Confined and in a dark space could have contributed it that,” Simone agreed, and drew a breath. She leaned closer to me and added in a quiet voice, “I started my period last night.”

“Mmm,” I reached out and rubbed her shoulder, which was as much as I could let myself do in public. “Sorry about that,” I added gently, wanting to hug her.

She rested a gloved hand on mine and sighed. “There’s always next month.”

I squeezed her shoulder lightly and nodded before turning to get back to my team, feeling my own unexpected sense of pain at her news.

Logically I’d known it was unlikely Simone would conceive so close at the end of her cycle but it still hurt.

\--oo00oo—

On the drive back, LaSalle was still grappling with Simone’s comments, and it was hilarious to see him do so.  
“So she worked in one of those places like _Lys Noir_?” he asked, looking confused.

“Seems like she did,” I offered, doing my best not to sound anything but calm. Of course I had more of a sweet and sensual inside track about Simone, but the idea of her as a teenager dabbling in kink was a little unsettling, not that I’d admit it.

“But she seems so nice. For a coroner and all,” he mumbled. “Pretty too, you know?”

“Christopher, that woman’s _not_ your type,” I replied sharply, and cleared my throat, “We, uh, both know that.”

But I was too late; LaSalle was eyeing me and grinning. “Oh is that so? More like _your_ type, mebbe King?”

“Simone Hiver is her _own_ type, I countered, hoping to sidetrack this conversation.

"Yeah I _knew_ you liked her,” he gloated. “I could tell.”

“I like most _everybody_ ,” I pointed out, sensing it was a losing battle.

“True but I SAW the way you reacted to her Halloween costume,” LaSalle chortled. “Y’all went from host to bodyguard lickety-split.”

I gave a pained sigh. “I was just being courteous—you know how raucous and wild this city gets, especially during a holiday. She wouldn’t be _used_ to that.”

“Yeah, because _Las Vegas_ is so tame and quiet compared to us,” He mocked me with a grin. “Just come out and admit it, Dwayne: you think she’s pretty.”

“Will it get you to shut up?”

“Mebbe,” LaSalle shrugged, still smiling. “But probably not.”

“No point then,” I grunted, and he just laughed.

“Yeah, you’re sweet on her.”

“I am too _old_ to be sweet on anyone, Christopher.” I knew I was protesting too much but he had a way of needling me that was starting to get annoying.

“Be that as it may, but as my grandma would say a rooster ain’t dead ‘till he’s in the oven.”

And I thought maybe his grandmother had a point, even if LaSalle didn’t realize it.


	19. Chapter 19

I started looking up what options there were to marriage with a mind to finding what paperwork was needed. I knew different states had different definitions of partnership, and that most of them were geared for couples of the same sex, but a lot of them applied for folks like Simone and myself as well.

I wanted something that would give her rights to not only my benefits but also property if we agreed on it, and let us _both_ have custody of whatever child came of our union. I’d seen too many families of unwed folks that came apart when a disaster hit and that wasn’t going to happen to us if I could help it. If Lord forbid I got killed on the job, or if Simone was hospitalized, I truly wanted each of us fully able to care for each other and our baby without any hassle or legal hang-ups.

Since we both resided in the city of New Orleans we qualified for a domestic partnership, and it amused me to see that the total in filing fees amounted to less than forty dollars all told—more expensive than a marriage license and not nearly as romantic. I printed out the necessary forms and stuck them in a folder on my desk.

With Percy and LaSalle were off trying to find more information about our two lieutenants, and Gregorio was talking to the shop owner, I took myself to the morgue. Loretta was chatting with Simone as I came in, and they both looked a little guilty when they saw me, which made me suspicious. 

“Ladies,” I murmured, watching them both. 

Loretta, however, dished it right back with a smile that meant trouble. “Dwayne. Here for the details on your adventurous lieutenants I take it?”

“If you’d be so kind,” I played along. Simone said nothing and I thought she looked a little peaky. I knew it was probably related to her period—I’d learned from the women in my life how they could range from mildly uncomfortable to downright painful, and tried to be considerate about them when I could. Linda had once described bad cramps as “Your insides slowly being scraped out with a rusty fork,” and that was enough to get my full sympathy.

“Lieutenant Donatti choked to death,” Loretta told me. “On a condom.”

My look must have amused her because she pointed to an x-ray of the woman’s esophagus with what looked like a long wad mid-throat.

“Started as safe sex, ended as _un_ safe sex,” Loretta murmured. “Only the third case in my long career.”

I shook my head. “Not a good way for her to end hers,” I added. “What about the other officer?”

Simone motioned to the second table. “Anaphylactic shock,” she confirmed. “Asthma combined with an allergic reaction. Possibly latex although I suspect it was more likely an ingredient in the smears of lubrication around his mouth and nose. Both of the lieutenants also had substantial amounts of alcohol in their systems.”

“I can’t imagine anyone having sex in a shop like that _without_ some sort of alcohol,” I sighed. “I also can’t believe I’m asking this, but nothing suspicious?”

“Aside from two drunk people testing out sex toys and having spectacular bad luck while doing it? Not really,” Loretta shrugged. To Simone she added, “Go take the afternoon off; I’m fine here.”

Simone nodded to us both, her glance lingering on me and left. The minute she was out of the room Loretta sighed. “She’s not feeling too well.”

“Cramps,” I agreed and could have kicked myself when Loretta arched an eyebrow at me questioningly. “A guess. Looks sort of pale. Between Linda and Laurel got familiar with the signs,” I bluffed.

“Yes well it’s accurate,” Loretta admitted. “I worry about her trying to take on too much around here. I think she feels obligated to try and live up to Sebastian’s level even though none of us truly can.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, and something in my tone caught her ear; she looked at me more seriously now as she crossed her arms.

I knew that look. She was prepared to wait me out and frankly I was ready to spill. “Simone and I . . . we’ve uh, gotten to know each other pretty well.”

Now there was a twinkle in Loretta’s gaze but her expression stayed slightly stern. I felt myself going red. “Annnd it’s getting serious.”

“Serious.” Loretta nodded. “As in going steady, or something a little more in _depth_ , Dwayne?”

“We’re . . . thinking about a . . .” I nearly said ‘baby’ but Loretta wasn’t ready for THAT bombshell so I blurted, “Domestic partnership.”

Now both her eyebrows went up. “A section eighty-seven? How _romantic_ of you!”

“Loretta,” I sighed, leaning on her desk, “Simone told me flat out she was never gettin’ married again and given what she went through I understand why she feels that way. Far be it for me to push on the matter, so consider this the work-around for the moment.”

She sat down and sighed right back. “Fair enough. I _suspected_ the two of you were . . . getting along these last six months or so. I’ve heard about your cooking lessons more than once, frankly. She seems to think you’re the best thing in the kitchen since Julia Child.”

“I have my moments,” I grinned. “Still, I wanted you to know, even though we’re keeping it off the radar for now.”

“This isn’t a rebound from Linda’s wedding it is?” Loretta murmured, suddenly concerned. I was touched by that; she’s known me a long time and understands me pretty well.

“No,” I shook my head, “it’s not. Just happens to have coincided with it at this point. I just wanted you to be aware of the relationship.”

“I’m honored . . . and pleased, frankly,” Loretta gave me a quick hug. “You’re a good man, Dwayne Cassius Pride, and you _deserve_ to be happy. Both of you do.”

I hugged her back, feeling grateful to have her support. Loretta was one of the people I trusted most in this world, so having her blessing meant a lot.

\--oo00oo—

On a whim I stopped by Simone’s place after work and I brought both the folder and chocolate. The latter turned out to be the perfect gift apparently, since she took it with a sweet little tremble of her lower lip.

“Oh God _thank_ you,” she mumbled, opening the box and pulling out a piece without even checking the lid to see what it was. I didn’t laugh but it was close. Simone let me in and I saw she was in a long-sleeve Stardust Casino t-shirt and pajama pants, which was a cute look on her. 

Nearly _everything_ was a cute look on her to be honest, and I followed Simone to the living room where she motioned me to the sofa and sat next to me. “Want a piece?”

I took the coconut one, figuring nobody else would eat it anyway. Simone set the box down and wiped her lips, giving me a little smile. “I needed that; how did you know?”

“I’m domesticated,” I told her, “ Had a wife, a daughter—”

“Well-trained,” she chuckled, and rubbed her lower back. “Usually it’s not too bad but this time around, not fun. I was just about to take a bath and call it a night with a heating pad.”

I volunteered to wash Simone’s hair and did, working in the lather and then the conditioner while she soaked in water so hot I could have added teabags to it. It felt nice to touch her in a caring way; to share some time just because we wanted to be together. When Simone languidly got out and wrapped herself in a bath sheet I whistled.

She giggled. “I think you need your eyes checked, Mr Pride.”

“They’re working just fine,” I assured her, drying off her hair with a towel. “So I always meant to ask—what was your maiden name?”

“Simone Celeste Angelique Dejardins-Sauveterre,” she rolled out, giving a sigh. “Honestly, the only worthwhile thing Hugo gave me was a manageable last name, so I’m hanging onto it. Trading six syllables for two helps when you’re a doctor.”

“Pretty fancy,” I agreed. Up close Simone smelled wonderful and I was struggling to behave myself. When you’re touching a nearly naked woman just out of a bath certain urges make themselves known.

“So uh, I brought some papers for you to look at,” I mumbled, trying to distract myself. “To consider.”

“Oh?” she sauntered out of the bathroom and I followed her after I’d pulled the plug on the tub. Simone was already in nightgown when I walked into the bedroom a thin little silky one with a green tropical print. With a smile, she patted the mattress next to her as she sat up against the headboard and I joined her after I kicked off my shoes.

“So . . . a domestic partnership,” Simone mused, flicking through the paperwork. “This looks . . . detailed.” 

“Well I just want to be thorough,” I countered, slipping an arm around her and pulling her to lean against me. “I don’t like leaving things to chance.”

“I see. Dwayne . . . don’t you think we ought to . . . _practice_ a little co-habitation before we put anything down on paper?”

I’d thought about it, but it was good to hear her say it. I nuzzled her still-damp hair. “Makes sense. I know the agreement stipulates we both have to live in New Orleans, and we can maintain separate residences, but I think I could handle little more . . . closeness. I’d sure like to .”

“Good,” she told me, and closed the folder. “Can you stay the night?”

I pretended to hesitate and Simone rolled her eyes at my act. “Welllll. You know it’s a _school_ night.”

“I’ll school YOU,” she snickered. “You know you _want_ to. You know _I_ want you to.”

“I never say no to a lady, however . . .” I sat up and fished for my shoes, “If I’m staying, I’m gonna have to go shopping. You may be the most amazing, sexy, brilliant woman I’ve ever met, but I’m _not_ putting up with just chocolates, oranges and bottled water for breakfast.”


	20. Chapter 20

I spent that weekend and learned a lot about Simone. She liked to get up early and do complicated yoga in her living room, twisting herself into all sorts of interesting poses with the grave concentration of a watchmaker. That was _fun_ to watch, frankly. She had only two perfumes but an entire bookcase filled with mysteries. The woman didn’t own a television and had three stray cats (“Louise, Herbert, and Feinberg,”) she fed from the back porch.

And deep in the back of the guest room closet in a battered canvas case, she had a cello.

“Yes it’s mine,” she told me when I found it. “I haven’t had it out for a few years though. I took lessons all through high school and my teacher took me to a pawn shop off the Strip so I could buy my own instrument. It’s huge and old but I love it.”

“Play for me?” I asked, trying not to beg. Finding out she played an instrument was like finding hidden treasure and after a very indulgent Simone got the thing out and tuned up I realized she was good. A little rusty but she knew music and played with natural grace.

One more thing to make me love her, damn it.

Little by little things of mine moved over to the house in Gentilly: shaving gear, shirts, cooking utensils. Simone gave me drawer space and my own key; I took the time to get the gutters fixed and tackled the back yard, taking on the kudzu that had overgrown the high fence there. It took a few hours but by the time I’d finished on a Saturday a few weeks later, the yard looked livable.

I took a bath and was stepping into the bedroom where Simone was putting away the last of her laundry when she turned a hot-eyed look at me and bit her bottom lip. “Ohhhh myyyy,” she breathed, looking me over from head to bare toes.

Given that I had a towel wrapped low around my hips and nothing else on I was damned flattered. “Merci,” I told her with a grin, preening a little. Once you’re past fifty, getting that sort of response from a woman definitely feeds the ego, among other things. “So I figured we could go . . . to the, ah, farmer’s . . . market . . .”

Simone had scooted over and was running her hands over my chest in a way that told me she had other plans. “Nope,” she announced in a little purr. “I don’t think so, Mr. Pride, you big gorgeous man, you. I think it’s time _you_ tied _me_ up.”

I _throbbed_ at that and I know she felt it through the towel because she looked at me through lowered lashes. We’d been holding off on sex since her period but it had been a few weeks and it looked like that was about to change.

Yeah change of plans, starting immediately. I caught her wrists and gently pulled her hands behind her back, holding them firmly as I brought my face to hers, holding that hot green gaze of hers with mine.

“Are you trying to boss me around? Because you’re going to find that _hard_ to do _mon ange_. I don’t take orders, even from a sweet little hellcat like you.”

Simone gave a little sigh, giving in. “Pretty please, then?”

“Better,” I assured her, walking forward, herding her back towards the bed. “First things first. Someone here’s overdressed.”

I let go of her hands and she pulled off her shirt, but I stopped her, looming over her, my hands on my toweled hips. “Ah-ah. Slower. You _hear_ me? Slooooower. I want to enjoy this.”

Simone caught on and made it a point to undo the front hooks of her bra in a much more artistic fashion, shooting me smoldering glances as she did so. The towel wasn’t hiding much of my enthusiasm and I worked to look stern, which encouraged the woman tossing her lingerie aside to lick her lips.

Ridiculous and yet, so damned sexy. Simone shimmied out of her shorts and panties, letting them drop to the carpet before kicking them aside and sitting very primly on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. I could _feel_ the heat coming off of her sweet nudity in waves, a sort of lush sensuality that had me completely focused on her. “Better?”

Oh she sounded downright _cheeky_ , and before I knew it I was lifting her chin with one hand, making her look up at me.

“We’re just getting _started_ ,” I breathed in her face. Her pupils went dark and I could see her blush as she stared at me in anticipation. There was something addictive about having her full attention and I held it a moment before letting my gaze run down her body.

“You _try_ to be saucy but we both know you’re sweet. Woman like you is _nothing_ but syrup, _minou_. Just waitin’ to be licked up.”

I saw the goosebumps along her arms and knew my words were getting to her, so I added, “Bring me a scarf.”

Simone scrambled, scooting to the dresser and fishing out a filmy length of green silk. I took it, tugging it to test it. Mostly for show, but once again the woman gave a little shiver.

I was starting to realize that kink was fun. Extra spice for foreplay I guess. A little sensual cayenne to heat things up so to speak. “Stretch out, hands over your head,” I ordered lightly, thrilled to see Simone do so, her hips rolling a little as she followed my directions.

She had a wire headboard in curly black metal, and it barely took me any time to lash her small wrists in the scarf, anchoring them to the bars with a tight bow. Easy to undo, but secure enough for what I had in mind. Simone’s pupils were so big now her eyes looked black, and those perky nipples showed me how aroused she was. I trailed a finger across her lips as I leaned down to look at her. “Not so sassy _now_ , are you?” I teased. “Gonna be a good girl?”

There was a hint of defiance in her expression and she refused to answer; most likely because she was afraid I’d stop—and that really would be cruel for both of us because I was just as turned on as Simone was at this point.

“All right,” I told her as I slipped a hand to stroke her collarbone. “Let’s get one thing straight here . . . you are _not_ in charge right now. You can pout and fuss all you like angel mine, but things are going _my_ way. And I like to take my time.”

Under my fingers I felt how velvety her skin was. I trailed my touch to flick around one hard nipple, bending to lick it and blow on it. Simone whimpered very nicely for that so I repeated it with the other nipple. I hadn’t shaved yet, to I brushed my stubble lightly on the underside of her breasts as well.

Simone was making interesting sounds now; breathy little gasps mostly. I lifted my head to look at her. “Having a little problem? Should I . . . stop?”

“No,” she breathed. “Please.”

I liked the ‘please’ and shifted to kiss her throat, working my way up to her mouth. My own body was moving into high tension now, well-aware of the beautiful naked woman just under me. “Mannerly. I _like_ that,” I told Simone as I tugged off the towel. “I want a good look at you in the daylight,” I murmured and climbed onto the bed.

So much to explore. I spent time kissing her belly button, which made her squeak, and running my hands over all that hot silky skin of hers. And the scent! I loved her perfume but even her bare skin smelled delicious to me; sort of a sweet ripe woman scent. I stroked her ribs and hips; ran my hands on the outside of her thighs and blew a cool breath through that silky fur between them just to watch Simone shift restlessly under me. 

“Patience,” I chided. 

Simone gave a little breathless chuckle. “I’m slowly going _insane_ here!”

“Ah, then I should slow down,” I threatened. “Would that help?”

She cursed very softly in French but I got the gist of it. With my thumb I rubbed the wet seam of her sex, feeling the warm slickness that was already trickling there. Feeling a little urgent myself I knelt between her spread knees and cupped her ass, lifting the bottom half of her up. Startled, Simone’s legs draped on either side of my forearms, opening up the erotic sight of her curly mound and under it, the slick petals of her pussy.

Some words, crude as they are, fit the moment and this was one of them. I pressed a kiss and delicately used my tongue, sliding it, flicking it lightly along each fold, teasing the sweet little pearl that throbbed there.

She squirmed but I kept going, knowing it wouldn’t take long for Simone. The slick sweet taste of her really was like syrup and fought hard not to come as a savored ever lick and nibble, but eventually she began to groan so I pressed my lips tightly around that little bud of hers and suckled.

Yowling, Simone wrapped her legs around my shoulders, shuddering hard, her entire body tensing in waves against my palms. I rode it out, letting her enjoy her climax, feeling kinda proud at being able to drive her there. My own body was climbing towards critical though, so I gently set her ass down again, and stretched out on top of Simone, letting my cock throb and dribble against the inside one of her damp thighs.

“Ready for me?” I rasped, trying to be a gentleman and not really succeeding. I suckled on one hard rosy nipple, making her shudder again.

“Yessss,” she hissed. “ _More_ than ready!”

“Good to know,” I shifted, angling myself before I thrust into her . . . and stopped. God the fit in that snug body of hers was bliss personified but I held back, fighting the urge to move. Simone fought the scarf, rolling her hips, looking up into my face.

Raw. We were as bare to each other as we ever would be at this point, and I throbbed deep within her, feeling the sweat, heat and lust between us; the primitive power of our animal natures tempered by something more. Something hungry and wild between us that couldn’t be defined. Simone belonged with me and I belonged with her in a way we’d never be able put into the right words though we tried.

“Mine,” she told me, raising her head up from the pillow to lick my mouth, tasting herself there. I rocked, pumping a slow stroke in her, making Simone moan.

“Mine,” I told her, loving the feel of her body under mine, giving into my urges. “You’re _mine_.”

She nodded, kissing me, bringing her legs up around my hips and locking them around me. “Yours,” Simone agreed. “Yes.”

I couldn’t fight my instincts any longer and thrust into her, settling into a deep steady stroke that drove us both hard as the bed creaked under it. I felt my entire body begin to tense, the teasing madness of pleasure building with every pump, and blindly managed to tug on the bow’s end, undoing Simone’s arms. She pulled them free, wrapping them tightly around me as I came, and the sweet sting of her nails on my back sent me over the top, as I came, hard and deep within her.


	21. Chapter 21

It was hard, leaving on Sunday night. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to get back if I was going to maintain any sense of privacy for us. Already I’d fielded calls from Percy and Loretta on my whereabouts over the weekend. I hadn’t realized how much we all were in each other’s business until now and it amused me to think how like a family we genuinely were.  
Still, I understood Simone’s wish for a little privacy, especially considering how delicate matters still were for us. She came and hugged me, both of us leaning against the car in the twilight.

“Oh! I have an intake appointment at the Magnolia street clinic on Wednesday. Mostly paperwork I think although there may be bloodwork too. Can I call you if they need your info?”

“I’d rather _be_ there,” I told her quietly. “What time’s the appointment?”

“Two,” Simone told me, running her hand through my bangs. “But if you’re busy, it’s all right. I know how the job gets.”

“For this I’ll _make_ time,” I assured her, studying her face. “Sweetheart, are you . . . okay?”

Simone didn’t answer right away, which made me a little anxious, but finally murmured, “I will be. This weekend . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone else around for more than a few hours. I’m not as _social_ as you are, Dwayne. I’m more like one of my feral cats, you know? I still feel shy and a little awkward, even around you sometimes.”

I was touched by that, and cuddled her a little closer. She’d hit on a truth about herself and we both knew it. Part of Simone’s charm for me was her little cat solitary nature. “It’s all right. Gotta admit this weekend was pretty intense for both of us. But it was also damned amazing and I’m looking forward to coming back in five days, if you’ll let me.”

She gave me that sweet smile of hers; the one with the dimples and soft eyes. “You _have_ to— you told me we’re going Thanksgiving shopping.”

“Oh yeah. We’ll fill at least two carts to the brim. Maybe three,” I enthused, kissing her nose. “Nobody leaves _my_ dinner hungry. Nobody.”

“May I bring something?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “What are you thinking of?”

Simone chuckled. “A surprise. But a good one.”

We kissed goodbye and I drove off, wondering what she was going to bring.

\--oo00oo—

We wrapped up the case involving the sex shop; something the higher-ups were glad to see closed, and found ourselves being called in for a case at the Navy biodynamic lab where a lieutenant had gone missing along with a set of schematics for a re-breather the military had been working on. Espionage was likely but we needed to check out all possibilities for our missing person, so I sent LaSalle to check out her home and had Gregorio check out the divers and their part of the lab.

Me, I spent part of the time they were out going over annual review paperwork, trying to strike a fair balance between the three of them. It was tough; I didn’t want to hold any of them back, but I also knew each of them needed a little more experience and support before they could move on up. Sometimes it’s hard to be the person making the call about those sorts of issues. I’d been putting it off, but now seemed as good a time as any, and if I timed it right, everyone might get a bonus by Christmas.

My appointment reminder went off as Percy finished briefing me on the lab; I checked it and told her I had an errand to run. Sonja gave me that look of deep suspicion she does so well.

“An errand. Couldn’t get it done over the weekend?” she asked sweetly.

“No, not really. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I replied, moving past her. “Hold down the fort for me, if you please.”

“All right, but it better be Thanksgiving related,” she grumbled. “Something to make up for my trouble.”

“It is,” I lied. “Completely. Be good.”

She arched an eyebrow at that and I left, snickering to myself. Sonja Percy was in many ways a second sassy daughter and at least I knew how to deal with her most of the time.

The clinic on Magnolia Street wasn’t far and I managed to make the appointment with a few minutes to spare. Soft pastel décor, several women in various stages of pregnancy around including one who looked like she was smuggling a thirty pound turkey under her shirt. I found Simone in a corner, busily typing into a loaner iPad; she smiled up at me when I headed her way.

“Blood type?” she asked me. “Thank you for being here. I really appreciate it.”

I told her my type and added, “looks like they know what they’re doing.”

“This place has a solid reputation,” she agreed and handed me the iPad. “I did my section; this one is yours, Dwayne. If you make it through these questions I will do all the Thanksgiving dishes myself.”

“So they’re either really tough questions or you’re a glutton for punishment.”

“You’ll see which,” Simone replied, sighing.

I glanced at the first one and then back up at her. “What does the age I lost my virginity at have to do with our _purpose_ here?” I felt my face go red and quick memories of Callie Johnson flickered through my guilty mind. We’d both been fifteen year olds with too many hormones and too much free time that summer oh those many decades ago. If her mother had found out she’d have killed me if my own mother didn’t first.

“Probably as a gauge for how much experience you have,” Simone murmured. “I’m definitely an underachiever.”

“Quality, not quantity,” I mumbled, looking over the rest of the questions with a vague sense of alarm. General health questions gave way to more specific ones about STDs, sexual practices and lifestyles. I was tempted to scroll backwards and see Simone’s answers but suspected I’d find out soon enough. I glanced up to see Simone eyeing me, right on the verge of a giggle.

“You look _so_ uncomfortable right now,” she told me. “Second thoughts?”

“Not about us,” I assured her. “Just not expecting to roll out my uh, romantic history like this.”

“Need more time?” she teased, and I made a face at her before getting back to the questionnaire.

I plowed through it, dutifully answering questions about hygiene, proclivities and current situation, feeling by turns blasé and perturbed. The net result was that I was a bit on edge by the time Simone’s name was called. We both stood up and followed a nurse down a hall where she ushered us into an exam room in soothing pastels and took the iPad, promising that the doctor would be with us shortly. 

“Nervous?” I asked Simone, coming over to very lightly rub her shoulders. She relaxed a little and rolled her head from side to side.

“A little. Usually I’m good under pressure, but this is all new to me.”

I looked at the feminine décor and nodded. “Yeah, we’re a long way from the morgue.”

Someone knocked and entered; a petite African-American woman with dreads and a tablet. She had on big chunky green earrings and a broad smile as she looked us over. “So you are Simone and Dwayne?”

I wanted to reply but this was Simone’s appointment so I stayed quiet as she spoke up. “Yes, that’s us. And you’re Doctor Petrowski?”

“Ashante Petrowski, yes,” she agreed, holding out a hand first to Simone and then to me. Good grip. “I tend to go on a first-name basis since we’re going to get to know each other well. So, I’ve glanced over your questionnaires and there are a few things we need to talk about of course, but first off, you need to know that this pregnancy will be a slightly higher risk than the average, mostly due to your age. I say _slightly_ because statistically it is, but you’re in good health and good shape so personally I don’t expect any complications per se.”

I felt relieved until Doctor Petrowski—Ashante—looked at me and gave a little frown. “So we’re going to need some specimens from you, Mr. Pride—blood, urine, semen.”

I gulped a little. “Right _now_ ?”

This wasn’t quite what I was expecting but it made sense, even as it embarrassed me.

“The blood definitely, and urine if your bladder’s full at the moment,” she shrugged. “As for the semen, we do have home kits but we’d like an initial sample for base comparison—you can arrange an appointment with Joe at the front desk. Since you’ve already fathered one child I don’t expect any problems unless you’ve gotten a vasectomy or a bad case of the mumps since then.”

“Nope to both,” I murmured. Home tests sounded like a lot better deal to be honest. Simone took my hand and squeezed it, which I appreciated.

“Good!” Ashante beamed. “All right then, let’s talk about what to get started before you sweeties two get busy.”

Forty minutes later we were heading out with handouts on nutrition, stress reduction, genetic screening and a potential timetable, both of us with gauze and tape on the crooks of our elbows. Simone looked pale but happy, her green eyes bright as we stepped out onto the street. She waited until we were at her car before turning to me, holding my gaze with hers. “Scared off yet?”

I took her hand, letting her warmth seep against my fingers. “Nope. I have the easy part, really. The downright _fun_ part if we’re being honest here.”

“Oh it’s fun for me too,” Simone pointed out. “A lot more so than a clinical visit with a medical version of a turkey baster.”

I shook my head, laughing. “That is just SO wrong. Now I won’t be able to use one this Thanksgiving without terrible images in my head.”

“I’m betting MY images are worse,” Simone replied, shuddering. She glanced at the papers in her hand, re-arranging them before she spoke again. “It’s . . . a lot. I’m glad they’re thorough, but--”

“But it’s better to start out with support and monitoring I guess.” I checked my watch. “Gotta get back to work, but I’d like to stop by tonight if that’s all right with you. I’ve got something for the back yard.”

She nodded and we parted ways after I kissed her. Once I got to my car, I sighed, glancing down at the paper with the instructions and appointment time for my date with a sample cup.

Simple directions, starting with: _Do not have sex or masturbate for at least three days prior to your appointment._

The only problem was that the earliest date I could get was right before Thanksgiving . . . . eight days from now.

Eight days without sex. I scowled.

I could do it, but I sure as hell wouldn’t like it.


	22. Chapter 22

Turned out that I didn’t have time to think about celibacy for the rest of the week because the body turned up for the missing lieutenant. LaSalle and I had a long car chase through Mandeville, finally catching up and tackling two thugs who didn’t have the brain cells of a possum between them. One was a brawny ex-underwater welder who thought he could make a fortune patenting the re-breather overseas, mostly to a Chinese market.

I felt sorry for the lieutenant who’d been strangled by the other one posing as a boyfriend and made it a point to contact her relatives and help them get some closure. Never an upbeat part of the job but I know my duty and get it done out of basic human decency. The happier note by Friday was that Sebastian would be coming to Thanksgiving, which pleased everyone, Loretta the most.

“Still a little annoyed, but just seeing Sebastian again will do me good,” she admitted to me as she helped me get the holiday dishes out of the cupboard on Friday afternoon.

“Same here,” I assured her. “He’s making it his own way and that’s all anybody can ask of a person.”

Loretta nodded. She shot me a look that made me sigh and turn to her---one of those ‘going to ask you a serious question’ looks I know so well. 

“So,” she began, looking a little unsure of herself, which was a first. “You and Simone . . . still keeping the relationship a secret?”

“Until she wants to bring it out in the open, yeah,” I replied, brushing my hands on my apron. “It’s _her_ call, basically.”

“You two can’t keep it hidden forever,” Loretta pointed out. “Especially over a very _personal_ meal like Thanksgiving. Maybe the pair of you need to consider sharing it.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I agreed, wondering where the gravy boat was, and how the hell I was going to sleep in the same bed as Simone this weekend without wanting to get frisky.

“You _do_ that,” Loretta agreed, “Because if I know your team, they’re already starting to wonder about your weekends.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I admitted, pulling the big glass platter out. “But because someone else is in the equation I can’t make the decision on my own.” 

“Well figure it out and let me know,” Loretta grumbled. “I don’t want to spill the beans inadvertently.” 

“Will do. Have you seen the gravy boat?” 

I figured the best way to survive the weekend was to tire ourselves out, so I took Simone to a local nursery where we picked up material for a few raised vegetable beds, a pair of young Savannah Holly trees and gardening odds and ends. It took us most of the day to get everything laid out nicely. 

I brought up the subject of letting the team know as we finished our dinner of corn salad and ribs, waiting to see what Simone thought. 

She frowned a little. “Do they _have_ to know?” 

"About us? I think so. The baby . . . not so much. Not yet, anyway. Gonna be hard to hide that later along,” I pointed out to her. 

“What if . . . what if they don’t _approve_?” Simone wanted to know, looking worried. “After all, they care a _lot_ about you and I’m sure they’ve got opinions about . . . your love life.” 

I thought about that, trying not to smirk too much. “Yeah I’m sure they’ve got opinions and yes they care but there are two factors here that you need to take into consideration. First of all, I’m _happy_ with you. You’re good for my mood, good for my body and soul. Nobody’s opinion is gonna change that. And second, you’re an amazing woman in your own right, Simone. You’re smart and kind and in a career where you do the right things for the right reasons, same as my team. Quit underselling yourself, all right sweetheart?” 

She shook her head but grinned at me. “Who’s good for who here? Thank you, Dwayne. So yes, I suppose we should tell them. But nothing too . . . dramatic, all right?” 

I agreed and we did the dishes. Later when it was time to go to bed I was amused to see Simone decked in pajamas. Pink silk but still, a lot of my favorite body was covered up now and I cocked my head gazing at her. “That’s a new look.” 

“I don’t want to tempt either _one_ of us,” she confessed. “In fact I was going to suggest you may want to head back to your own bed if you think it’s too much . . .” 

“I’m old enough to control myself,” I sighed. “Whether I like it or not. And frankly I sleep better _with_ you than without you.” It was true; having Simone to hang onto instead of a pillow did wonders for my rest. Something about nocturnal companionship worked for me. 

“Me too,” she agreed, and slipped into bed next to me. 

At some point in the night I woke up because I heard a sound. I lay still, trying to catch it again and realized it was Simone. Spooned as I was around her it was easy to hear her low whimpers of distress and I realized she was crying . . . but still asleep. Carefully I tightened my arm around her in a light, comforting squeeze. 

She relaxed, and rolled towards me, burrowing against my chest. I felt her tears against my bare chest and debated waking her up to ask what was wrong, but didn’t. It could wait until morning, I reasoned but I worried about it until I fell asleep myself. 

Sunday meant waffles, coffee and the newspaper. Much as I love the internet it’s nice to sit down with news you can take in at your own pace. Simone squeezed orange juice, I cooked and we had a quiet, companionable breakfast together, each of us caught up in our own sections of the _Times-Picayune_ before heading out for the pre-Thanksgiving grocery shopping. 

I looked over at her, watching Simone for a moment as she traced a finger on article. Without looking up she murmured, “Stop undressing me with your eyes, Dwayne.” 

“It’s the only way I _can_ undress you,” I grumbled, but lightly. “For the moment anyway.” 

“Soon,” she replied, glancing up at me and winking. 

“Not soon _enough_ ,” I pretended to grumble. Holding her gaze I added, “You had a nightmare last night.” 

Simone dropped her gaze. “Yes. I hate them . . . I’m running from monsters and can’t get away. I suppose a therapist would have a field day diagnosing me.” 

I shrugged. “We all have ‘em. Even _I_ do . . . mostly dreams where I don’t get to someone in time, don’t save ‘em.”My tone was bleak but I was honest. 

She reached across the table for my hand. “Those sound scarier than mine.” 

“That’s why I’m glad they’re not real,” I said. “Waking up helps a lot.” 

“Ever the realist,” Simone smiled. “No wonder I . . . _care_ about you.” 

So close. She _almost_ said it, and we both knew it. I squeezed her hand before letting it go and getting back to the sports page, smiling to myself. 

\--oo00oo— 

Finally the Wednesday arrived and I did too for my nine o’clock appointment. I was grateful that Joe, the front desk receptionist was calm and discreet, bringing me into a room that looked like a bedroom more than anything else. 

“No rush,” he repeated for the third time. “Nobody else is booked so there’s no pressure Mr. Pride. We have a selection of stimulus—“ he handed me a remote for a wall mounted TV, “—and as much time as you like. Sample cups and lube are here,” he waved to a bedside table, “and I suggest you fill in the label first. Set it on the ledge over there and press the buzzer when you’re ready.” 

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling more embarrassed than I ever had in my life. 

Joe gave a shrug. “Basic biology for one of the _best_ reasons in the world, sir. Think of it _that_ way.” 

He left, letting me lock the door behind him and I sighed. Normally I did this sort of thing in the shower—had the practicality of being washed away afterwards. But, given that I’d been masturbating for nearly forty-four years I was pretty familiar with my own technique and could manage it anywhere. I filled out the label on the cup, stretched out on the bed, undid my belt and tugged my jeans down, feeling foolish and nervous. 

Porn? I didn’t think so. Never much appealed to me; most of the performers were always so over-dramatic. I closed my eyes and concentrated on Simone instead, feeling a surge of heat at that thought. 

My phone pinged. Annoyed I checked it to find a text from the woman herself: _Need help?_

_Could use a hand. YOUR hand._

_I’ll go you one better._

A photo popped up on my phone screen and I gasped. An upskirt shot of familiar parted thighs and black lace panties. Yeah _that_ would work . . . I gripped my surging erection, feeling urgent. 

_Helpful?_

_You’re turning me into a pervert._ I texted back before reaching for the lube and coating my impatient cock. 

Another photo, this time with Simone’s hand tugging the crotch of her panties aside and matters got more intense pretty quickly. Part of it was having abstained for a while of course, but another part was that I just didn’t do this sort of thing and the shameful thrill of it pushed a few buttons for me. I gave into the pleasure and a while later remembered to grab the cup in time, managing a decent sample even as I groaned through my orgasm. 

I set it aside, used wipes to clean the lube and dribbles up before picking up my phone again. 

_The things I DO for you. Thank you, mon ange._

_You’re welcome. Now delete them before LaSalle finds them._

I laughed, and did. 


	23. Chapter 23

Thanksgiving meant cooking, big-time. I was good with that and at that, mostly because I’d been doing it for so many years. Even Linda let me handle it all through our marriage, so I had it down to an art for the most part. It was good for my soul, too---let me be nurturing in a practical way, and gave me a chance to give back to the people I cared about the most.

Didn’t mean they were off the hook, however. Everyone was expected to bring something, and enough of it to share in generous amounts. I had the main course and a few sides, so it was up to my team to fill in the gaps, and they did. Salad, a few more sides, and from Loretta, pies aplenty. I knew Simone was bringing the wine and I put out cider and water as well just to keep everyone hydrated. 

By five, LaSalle and Percy had showed up, followed by Loretta and CJ; by half past Sebastian arrived and Gregorio after that. I kept checking to see if Simone had gotten here yet but she hadn’t. I was starting to worry but finally I caught a glimpse of her coming through the sliding door, basket in one hand, packages in the other. Loretta swooped in to help her as did Christopher.

“Glad you made it, Miz Simone,” he told her cheerfully. “Oh, you brought the vino!”

“Yes, six bottles from my vineyard,” I heard her tell him as I came out from the kitchen to join them. “A good pinot noir in fact.”

“Your _vineyard_?” Christopher asked, looking startled. I was too but Simone managed a laugh, shifting the bottles to him as she nodded.

“I own half of a winery in Napa valley—Blushing Cloud Vineyard--won it at a poker game several years ago and I’ve kept the investment,” Simone replied, although she was looking at me. 

“Sounds like _you_ play for high stakes,” I murmured with a smile. 

“Occasionally,” Simone replied. “And _this_ is for the table.”

She handed it to me and undid the package as Loretta watched and Christopher went to set the wine down. I opened it to find a gorgeous tablecloth of pale cream brocade with jeweled autumn leaves appliqued all around the border. I _knew_ that Simone had hand-made the thing, along with the twelve matching napkins and the bread cloth.

“Oh geeze that’s gorgeous,” Gregorio murmured, looking at it. “Did . . . did you make this yourself?”

“Yes. I’ve had the pattern for ages but never had the time to do it. I hope it’s all right.”

Loretta smiled. “Oh I think it’s time to re-set the table, Dwayne. This is _lovely_ , Simone. Just lovely.”

I was too stunned to speak, but Simone smiled back. “If you like it, I can do a _Christmas_ one too.”

Christopher had come back and was looking at the cloth as well. “Well damn that’s almost too pretty to eat off of.”

I started shifting settings off the table, which had the old plain white, and the rest of the team helped as well so before you knew it, the table was redone with the new tablecloth, looking even more festive. I wanted to hug Simone but people were in the way and I needed to get back to the gravy but I did give her a significant look that I knew she understood even as she shyly touched the centerpiece of orange, red and white carnations before turning to mingle with people.

“When can we _eat_?” CJ asked, shaking the bottles of salad dressings for me back in the kitchen.

“Pretty quick here; go take those and set them on the table,” I directed him, and waved to Loretta to come help. She carried her wineglass in and took the basket of rolls from me. “Good vintage.”

“Better than local?” I grinned. Loretta knew wines better than I did, so her approval meant a lot.

“Much,” came the cheery reply as she sailed out. Sonja came in, waiting for me to hand her something—I did have my team well-trained at this by now. I gave her the sweet potatoes.

“ _Who_ made these?” She wanted to know, being the picky eater she is.

“I did,” I assured her, waving her out. “You’re gonna love ‘em, _same_ as last year.”

That seemed to placate her. Next, Gregorio carried out the salad, then LaSalle managed the dirty rice and relish tray while I got a grip on the platter with the turkey, hauling it out myself and carrying it to the table.

It was only fifteen pounds but looked impressive and I set it down at the head of the table where I could carve it for folks. Most of ‘em were already seated, with Loretta at the other end of the table. Simone was just on the right side of me with LaSalle opposite her, grinning at my show of manly strength.

“Whoah, that’s a good lookin’ bird, King,” he told me.

“I agree,” I replied, given that I’d been cooking it since five in the morning. “Bound to be worth it. Time to start the gratitudes, folks.” To Simone I added, “Just mention somethin’ you’re grateful for that you don’t mind sharing—gives the dishes time to cool down a bit.”

LaSalle started, talking about personal growth and healing which was true; he’d done a lot of both in the last year. Next to him, Gregorio talked about startin’ to love New Orleans, which made us all clap for her. CJ talked about bringing his math grades up, and getting letters from Danny. 

We rounded the table with Loretta grateful about Danny doing well and loving our little family, then Percy talked about growing on the job, and Sebastian rambled on about training until Percy poked him with a fork to get him to finish. Then it was Simone’s turn.

She talked about the warm welcome she’d gotten in coming to New Orleans and how much she appreciated getting to know us all. As Simone finished, Laurel showed up, cheerful as she hurried through the door and over to the table where Sebastian made room for her next to him. “Sorry everybody; traffic was crazy!”

We all greeted her as she settled in and looked my way, grinning a little. “Didn’t mean to interrupt; are we on gratitudes?”

“Yep,” I told her. “Go for it.”

Laurel spooled out a list starting with easy classes, and ended with big thanks for everyone at the table before looking at me with an amused glance. I waited a beat and rose up, looking down the length of the table at everyone feeling nervous but damned pleased as well.

Holidays bring out the sentimentalist in me, they truly do.

“I’m grateful for every one of you,” I told them quietly. “You’re not only my nearest, but my dearest and having you at this table is a blessing. I’m _also_ thankful for those who aren’t here with us but whom we miss and wish well of too.”

I shifted from my seat and took a step to my right, looking down at Simone, who was giving me a slightly panicked stare as I reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “And on top of everything else, I’m grateful for _you_ , Simone Celeste Angelique Hiver.”

Before she could protest, I cupped her face with my hands and kissed her, putting every bit of appreciation and adoration I could into it. Those soft lips melted under mine, leaving me dizzy with joy as she responded, kissing me back with just as much pleasure. 

_Love_ kissin’ this woman; want to do it as often as I can.

So when we finally broke apart there was a moment of silence; I looked around the table at more grins than I’d seen in ages. Percy reached in her pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, slowly handing it across the table to Gregorio, who handed it to LaSalle, who passed it to Laurel, who handed it to Loretta, who held it up triumphantly before tucking it away in her cleavage.   
Everyone began clapping and hooting, making me shake my head and Simone blush, but I wasn’t going to let that twenty go.

“Care to explain the round trip of that _particular_ Jackson?” I demanded, sitting down again.

“Jest a few wagers,” LaSalle grinned. “Sonja bet Tammy that you and Miz Simone _weren’t_ officially an item yet. I bet Tammy you two _were_ , and would announce it tonight at some point; and Laurel not only knew you guys were together, but bet me you’d mention it to us _all_ before we even started eating.”

I stared at Loretta, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “And I bet you’d _kiss_ her, Dwayne.” She beamed. “Easiest twenty I’ve ever _won_ , you romantic you.”

Simone burst into giggles. “We’re never going to live this down, are we?”

“Probably not,” Gregorio smirked. “I mean geeze, the hormones comin’ off you two were practically _blinding_ us.”

“Can we eat _now_?” CJ begged, and we all laughed again.

“Yes,” I assured him. “All right people; start passin’ plates and dishes.”

We ate. 

\--oo00oo—

Comfortably full was a good place to be. Loretta’s pies had been served up, and nobody was complaining about being hungry at this point of the evening. CJ and Lauren had offered to clear the table so I let them while the rest of us talked around the table. Sebastian was doing well in his courses and it showed; he was still as chatty but better at staying on topic nowadays.

Naturally both Percy and Gregorio wanted to know when we’d become a couple, and Simone told them the story of how we’d gotten discounted cookware under false romantic pretenses at Counter Productive.

“Of course,” Sonja nodded. “Had to be something _underhanded_ like that.”

“Shameless,” Gregorio sighed. “Seems to have been worth it, though.”

“A hundred dollar discount on a set of _Merveille du Chef_ and a man who knows how to use it,” Simone mused. “Seems fair.”

“Fair?” I pretended to be offended. “Just _fair_?”

“Well we haven’t used every pan yet,” Simone pointed out. “We’ll see once you’ve broken in the big roaster.”

“Christmas,” I replied. “Count on it.”

I excused myself to check on things in the kitchen and got a smirk from Lauren, who shook her head. “So she seems very nice; how serious are you about her, Dad?”

“We’re . . . getting there,” I countered, scraping scraps into the garbage before rinsing the plate. 

“Wow, that serious,” Laurel teased, bumping her shoulder with mine as we stood at the sink together. 

“Serious but not in a rush,” I murmured, not really wanting to talk about it. “She’s good for me.”

Lauren gave me an appraising look. “Yeah. I liked that she was there at Mom’s wedding, supporting you.” Her voice was soft, and pleased.

“Good for me,” I repeated. “Want to hear the kicker?”

Laurel leaned closer and I whispered. “She. Plays. Cello.”

When my grinning daughter high-fived me, we got dish suds all over each other.


	24. Chapter 24

“So you really _did_ win part of a winery in a poker game?” I wanted to know. We were sharing the last glass of pinot noir in the living room in Gentilly, Simone on my lap, drowsy and sweet after the long Thanksgiving dinner.

“Yep,” she murmured. “A real estate developer named Jack Toussaint put it up his half of it towards the end of the night after a really bad run at Texas hold-em about ten years ago. I won it on a full house of queens over nines. It wasn’t worth as much then—maybe eleven thousand or so, but I hired an agent to chart out what was needed to make it self-sufficient.”

“Seems to have worked out,” I murmured, thinking of my pal Elvis and what he would make of Simone. “Still, sounds like a high-stakes game; I didn’t even know you played.”

“In Las Vegas, _everyone_ plays,” Simone sighed. “My mother and I used to go to dinner poker parties and I picked it up early on but I saw what happened to addicts, and vowed I’d only play for fun.”

I nodded. Even though I was a little worn out with all the preparation and clean-up, I felt pretty good about Thanksgiving and how it had gone. The simple fact that my entire team had known about my feelings for Simone and supported us warmed me. It’s good to know people are rooting for you, especially in this day and age.

“Sleepy?” Simone asked in a soft voice. 

“Gettin’ there,” I admitted. “I think it’s time for us to hit the hay.”

She agreed and we trudged our way to bed, slipping out of clothes and under the covers, curling together and dropping off in a comfortable tangle.

\--oo00oo—

The plan for Friday was to get to the bar early and do some holiday decorating, have a casual lunch out and maybe start some easy shopping. It was a good plan, one we’d agreed on earlier in the week, but things didn’t go quite that way.

It started when Simone’s cell phone rang around four in the morning; she was needed to help process a crime scene in Bayou Bienvenue off of highway 47. She got up, told me to go back to sleep and that she’d text me once she was done. I made her coffee, kissed her goodbye and climbed back into bed, grumpy but aware that neither she nor Loretta were any happier about it. The hard part about being public servants is that when disaster strikes you’re on-call for it no matter what. I’d missed holidays before, lost whole weeks and weekends but that’s what duty is all about. I managed to get a little sleep with some vaguely uneasy dreams but finally hauled myself out of bed around seven, still feeling annoyed.

Yeah I was getting protective of my time with Simone. She was the best thing to happen to me in a long while and I was starting to realize that.  
I picked up coffee along with beignets and headed out towards the scene, figuring I could at least get her some breakfast if nothing else. Traffic was light, and when I got to the start of the highway flares I flashed my badge, which allowed me in, albeit with some curious looks since it wasn’t a Navy matter. Enough of the local law enforcement knew I was friends with Loretta though, and were willing to let me pass.

From what I could see car tracks led off the road and down through the trees of the swamp right into the water. At the water’s edge I spotted Loretta who was examining a body on the shore while about seven feet out in the shallows, Simone was in waders, examining another body that was hanging through the windshield. There were other folks around: detectives, medical personnel and highway patrolmen but I walked around them to reach Loretta, who gave me a puzzled look.

“Dwayne. Was there some naval connection I missed?”

“No,” I assured her. “Just knew you and Simone got called out at four, thought I’d bring some breakfast.”  
Even as I spoke I looked out towards the half-submerged car, which was ominous looking. All around us the air was damp and cool.

Loretta flashed me a grin. “I’m not going to ask _how_ you know the exact time, but thank you—coffee is _always_ appreciated!”

“You’re welcome. So what happened?”

“Party of three who didn’t make it home. This one’s been shot in the shoulder and we found another body up among the cypress with a self-inflicted gunshot. I suspect there was a fight during the car ride, and a possible struggle for the weapon,” Loretta sighed. “And I’m sure the blood alcohol levels will play into it.”

I shook my head. “Bad end to a Thanksgiving dinner?” I’d seen it happen before. Too often, in fact.

“Very likely,” Loretta agreed. “Have to admit I’m grateful Simone was willing to do the car . . . I _hate_ wearing waders.” She pointed with her chin out towards the water where my sweetie was sloshing a bit in thigh-high water, measuring something.

“Well she seems to be . . . doing . . . okay,” I replied absently because I’d just seen something a little strange. I straightened up. “Wait---”

Movement all right. Ripples. But not ones she was making, no this was a line of them _behind_ her, heading towards her. A chill went down my spine and I started moving quickly to the water, keeping my eyes on Simone.

Growing up here I knew something about the local wildlife and particularly the sorts you found in a swamp. A good number of things were dangerous. The ripples were too small to be a gator, but there were _other_ animals that lived around the water that were just as bad. I had my suspicions as I kicked off my shoes and waded in as quietly as I could. 

Four yards way, Simone looked over at my approach, startled. “Dwayne! What are you doing?”

I kept my eyes on her, and the ripples. “Don’t _move_!” I called to her, wading out, wincing at the chill of the swamp, but more concerned about what I suspected was in it. Behind me on the shore I heard someone calling for me to stop; that I was contaminating the scene but I ignored it, sloshing slowly through the water. Simone turned to face me, her expression worried as I got within arm’s reach.

Of course I didn’t have a damned thing at hand but I didn’t let that stop me.

“Dwwwayne?” Simone demanded.

“I need you to come out of the water right _now_. Slowly,” I told her. “You’ve got company you don’t _want_ , Simone. _Trust_ me.”

She hesitated a moment, and that’s when out of the corner of my eye I saw a _second_ cottonmouth slither around the front bumper of the car, weaving as it splashed into the water. Simone looked down, saw the snake and gave a little yelp, flinching. 

I reached for her gloved hand and pulled her towards me. “Two of ‘em,” I muttered. “Come on, let’s move slowly . . . .”

Now I heard folks catching on back on the shore, and someone was idiot enough to throw something towards us. 

Shit. Between that splash and Simone and I being in the water, the first one was getting curious and I couldn’t spot the second one anymore.

“We’ll just move real careful,” I encouraged her. “We won’t bother ‘em—”

My foot snagged on something and I floundered. Simone tightened her grip on my fingers but my other hand slipped, sliding under the water.

I brushed the second cottonmouth.

It hit me back. I felt the fangs sink into the muscle of my right forearm and the hot _sting_ of it sucked the breath out of me. I fought to get my footing and Simone planted herself, her grip almost as painful as the bite as she steadied me.

“Dwayne!” she called to me. “No! _No_!”

And things got a little confused after that. She pulled me close and held me, but then there was splashing and yells and Simone was calling for CroFab and more people were hanging onto me, and Loretta was yelling . . . . and things went out for me right as I felt myself drop into the water.

\--oo00oo—

I hate wakin’ up in the hospital. 

The blinds were drawn so I couldn’t tell what time it was but I figured it had to be late afternoon. My aching right arm was wrapped up from elbow to wrist in gauze, I had an IV and my headache threatened to split my skull with every throb. I also had that nasal sting that told me I’d inhaled some swamp water and that didn’t help matters much either. Sluggishly I looked around and spotted Loretta, who looked up from her iPad and smiled at me. She came over to my side, lowered the rail and gave me a wry look.

“You’re awake—good. How do you feel?”

“Arm hurts, head hurts and my nose stings,” I reported. “Sorry I destroyed your crime scene,” I added, realizing that’s probably what happened in the aftermath. 

“That’s not important,” she waved it aside. “What _is_ important is that we got antivenin into you in time, Dwayne. You’re going to be out of commission for a while but it could have been a _lot_ worse.” Loretta brushed my bangs and added, “There were three _other_ cottonmouths around the wreck, probably drawn in initially by the heat of the car engine shortly after the crash. The odds of Simone getting bitten were pretty high, and unlike you, she might _not_ have survived that.”

I nodded, which was a mistake since it made my head throb. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Where is she now?”

“Waiting outside. Your only next of kin listed right now is Laurel, so aside from me, your daughter’s the only one legally permitted to see you outside of visiting hours. _However_ . . .”

Loretta walked to the door, took her badge off and held it out; Simone snatched it, gave Loretta a quick hug and scurried over to my side before I could even laugh at the exchange. She leaned over the bed, warm hands reaching to cup my face. “Dwayne _mon ange, mon cher_!”

“I’ll be back in a while, Doctor _Wade_ ,” Loretta called before she stepped out and I gave a weak chuckle at that.

“I’m going to be _fine_ ,” I told Simone, who was staring at me with those big green eyes of hers. “Head hurts but I’ll live.”

“I’m _so_ glad,” she replied, and I could tell she’d been crying earlier. I reached up with my good hand and cupped the side of her face.

“ _Love_ you,” I told her, feeling an urge to let Simone know. I’d never said those words and neither had she but this moment kinda needed something to help us through it.

“I love you _too_ ,” Simone blurted and I watched the tears slip down her cheeks. “I thought you were going to _die_ , Dwayne and all I could think was you couldn’t do that before I told you I loved you at least _once_! Stupid and selfish of me but _mon Dieu_ . . .”

“Once helps,” I assured her. “More times is fine with me too. As many as you like; I’ll be sayin’ a lot myself.”

“All right then,” Simone sniffled, managing a watery smile as she sat on the edge of the bed. “And thank you for saving me. I had no idea there were _swimming_ snakes in Louisiana.”

“We’ve got all sorts of strange things here,” I murmured, pulling her down for a kiss. It was gentle but good, and I felt her relax after it. “And you’re welcome. At least it wasn’t an alligator.”

Simone shuddered. “No, I would have screamed like a banshee if I spotted something like that.” She looked me over. “Do you need anything? Pain management perhaps?”

“I wouldn’t say no to something for my head,” I admitted quietly.

So Simone paged the nurse who gave me a dose through the IV line and I held my sweetie’s hand until I fell asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Recovery is a bitch. Particularly if you’re right-handed and using pain medication. I wasn’t allowed to drive, naturally, so LaSalle drove my car back from the bayou and parked it near the office where he could keep an eye on it. I also had trouble shaving, dressing myself and for the duration it looked like cooking was going to be off my to-do list as well.

None of that made me particularly happy of course. For a while I debated staying at the office but Simone overruled me, pointing out that since I was on leave I’d be: 1) in the team’s way and 2) grouchy as a bear. The fact that both of those would be true didn’t help matters much either, but I had to admit that I’d recover faster with someone looking out for me and Simone was determined to do it. That at least was something in my favor, so off to the house in Gentilly it was.

I’m not good about recovery; I get restless and bored pretty fast but Simone seemed to understand that which helped. Linda always just put up with me until I was back on my feet. She loved me but she tended to leave me on my own through my grumpy phase. Simone took a different tack though, and introduced me to audio books, new musicians I hadn’t heard of, and little household chores I could do without getting frustrated. That worked pretty well for two days or so. 

Being in fairly good shape meant I healed pretty quickly too, and by the third day I was able to flex the fingers of my right hand without much pain. When Simone unwrapped the bandages the forearm was pretty bruised, and the fang holes were scabbed over but a lot of the swelling was gone.

“Now you’ll have a pair of macho little scars,” she teased, tenderly cleaning them and applying antibiotic ointment. “Something to show off when everyone else is flashing tattoos.”

I chuckled. “Might be able to get a couple of rounds from a bar showing them off.”

“Speaking of which,” Simone sighed, “I need to go pick up the payroll for yours and bring the checks back to be signed. Also, are you done with the grocery list?”

“Yep,” I handed her a sheet off a legal pad. “Bring all this back and we can break in your casserole dish tonight.” I’d found out that my sweetheart had never had Andouille so I was determined we’d have it for dinner.

“Joy,” she giggled, and then gave me a speculative look. “Dwayne, _ma cher_ , I want you to snoop around while I’m gone.”

I looked at her. “What?”

“Call it a rare opportunity to get to know me,” Simone shrugged. “You have detective training and you’re a little bored. Take a look around and see if you can discover anything new or interesting.”

I perked up; nosiness was one of my strengths and truth to tell I’d been tempted to look around before this. There was still a lot about Simone I didn’t know and having permission to poke around sounded fun, so I grinned at her.

“Anything off-limits?” I wanted to be clear on the ground rules, which made her smirk in return.

“Nothing, although you may not like everything you find,” she warned me with a knowing grin. “And naturally everything is confidential unless I say so. LaSalle does not need to know my preference for Jezebel lingerie, or Loretta my favorite stuffed animal.”

“Gotcha,” I agreed, pretending to be serious. “Sounds . . . interesting.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “I promise you-- _some_ of it is.”

With that Simone took off, leaving me to my curiosity, which kicked into high gear the minute I heard the car pull away.

Where to look first? As if there was _any_ question . . .

I slipped into the bedroom, gazing around it, feeling a surge of guilty delight. There were already a few good memories being established here, but I was curious so I considered the nightstand on Simone’s side. I tugged it open and peered into it, braced for . . . well, nearly anything at this point. I’d searched enough bedrooms to know that most people have the basics for their sex lives close at hand, and that meant all sorts of . . . aids.

There was a book. I pulled it out, doing a double take when I realized it was a cookbook.

Full of nude men.

“The Best of Bare Brawn Buffet,” I read the title, blinking a little, feeling my face heat up. Well the models were certainly bare I had to admit, and suddenly I regretted the idea of sausage for dinner . . . until I flicked through a few pages and a recipe caught my eye.

I spent two minutes copying it down before setting the book aside and looking again into the drawer. It dawned on me that all my cooking with Simone was probably her idea of foreplay and THAT was a much happier thought. Had she been undressing me with her eyes every Saturday? Fantasizing about me cooking in the altogether each time?

I shook my head, grinning—if that was what she wanted, all she had to do was ask.

There was a bottle of EasyLove lubricant further in the drawer, along with a little velvet bag that held a purple silicone vibrating egg. Linda had gotten one as a gag gift at a bridal shower and we’d played with it once or twice so I knew what it could do. A little deeper and I found something else though, and carefully brought it out into the light.

I stared at the braided leather handle, twirling it, making the suede straps fly up a bit and took a deep breath. Quality material, definitely expensive . . . and a little jolting. I wasn’t expecting to find a flogger. It’s one thing to know your sweetie is kinky and another to be holding something you could actually spank her with.

Shouldn’t have turned me on, but it did. The scent of the caramel-colored leather and the images of lightly swatting Simone’s perky backside were reminding my libido that we hadn’t made love in days . . . or nights for that matter. All the parts of me that hadn’t been bitten by a snake where ready to go—some more than others at this point. 

Experimentally I swung it against my good forearm and the sensation was fairly light. The persistent picture of Simone across my lap, waiting for the first swat on that peachy ass of hers . . . .

I swallowed hard. Being careful, I repacked everything into the nightstand drawer, not quite ready to admit how aroused I was at this point, and how far I’d come down this particular path. A year ago if you’d told me I’d be considering spanking a woman to gratify her I’d have said you were crazy. Nowadays though . . .

Rising up, I moved to the dresser, and pulled open the top drawer, pawing through the piles of silk there. Simone favored pastels, but among her pretty thongs were a few interesting exceptions. There was a leopard print one I liked, and another in fire engine red that appealed to me as well—I twirled it on one finger, and then set it down again. Deeper in the drawer I found a small photo album and opened it, flipping to the first page.

A few black and white photos of a woman and daughter---these had to be Simone and her mother, the two of them posing outside various casinos, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Simone looked all of six in them, a skinny girl with a pageboy haircut. Her mother had the long lines and glamour of a showgirl, but her expression looked strained.

On the next page was a whole chorus line of women smiling and posing, with Simone off to one side looking bored with it all. I grinned at that.

A school photo, with freckle-faced Simone missing a few teeth; a postcard from the Nugget, and then---

Simone hit puberty head-on. “Oh my,” I muttered. She and another curvy teen-aged girl were dressed in spangled bodysuits, flanking a man in a tuxedo and top hat, holding a white rabbit. A fancy caption framing them read _Marcus the Magician, with Pit and Pat._

“Magician’s assistant?”

Apparently she was, as the next few pictures showed her holding hoops and being locked in a saw-in-half box. I liked her smile; clearly she enjoyed what she was doing, but she looked damned young.

After that came a picture that damned near took my breath away. 

Simone, but no longer with the magician. Now she was stretched out on a long sofa shaped like a pair of red lips, wearing long gloves, thigh-high boots and a sweet little corset, all in black leather. She held a phone to her ear and the look on her face was a twist between trying to be sultry and trying not to laugh. I stared at the photo, feeling lust warring with concern: she looked barely over the age of consent for one damned thing, and yet there was a confidence in her expression as well.

A business card was on the same page. _The Domain: discreet pleasure is only a call away._

It dawned on me that Simone was right: I didn’t like everything I was finding. 

I was on the edge of shoving the photo album back into the lingerie drawer but with a deep breath turned the page, trying to tamp down my emotions.

A wedding party. All thoughts of Simone’s sex phone operator job vanished as I took a look at her in a short white dress next to a man easily three decades older than she was. Her mother was there too, dressed in a fashionable suit. They were standing outside a wedding chapel—not a tacky one, but still clearly a business—and it broke my heart. Her mother and husband were giving perfunctory smiles for the camera, both of them looking like people who’d come to a satisfactory business arrangement. 

Simone wasn’t looking at the camera. Gone were the happy, carefree smiles. Her glance was off to the side looking wistful and damn it, sad. Not a glowing bride, just a young woman caught up in a difficult situation. I noted the ring on her hand had an impressive diamond on it, and she held her bouquet of roses down, as if ready to drop them and run.

There was one last photo behind this one, and the rest of the book was blank, but that photo—THAT photo broke my heart.

A Polaroid. An early selfie, taken in a bathroom mirror. Simone looked solemn, one eye puffy and bruised, a trickle of blood dried under one nostril.


	26. Chapter 26

There are moments when you realize your whole perception of a person has shifted; kinda like a little twist of a kaleidoscope. I’d been seeing Simone through a lens mostly focused on the sensuality we shared, which wasn’t a bad thing—a lot of relationships are based on that alone—but these pieces of evidence about her past hit my heart in tender places. Intellectually I knew she’d suffered abuse, but seeing it tore me up inside. 

How long had it gone on? Simone made it sound as if it only got physical towards the end of her marriage but I didn’t think that was the case. More than likely, I theorized, her asshole husband kept his beatings infrequent while Simone’s mother was alive so the older woman wouldn’t find out, and once her mother died . . . yeah that made painful sense. 

If my beloved was willing to marry this monster to protect her mother, then Simone sure has hell would cover up the truth about it as well. 

That kind of devotion staggered me. I put the photo album back and wandered out of the bedroom, wondering how I could face her, knowing what I knew. All about trust, Simone had said, and now I saw it. All those times she gave me a chance and I’d come through, whether it was being cuffed or listening, really listening to what she wanted . . .

And now I was terrified of blowing it. I worried what would happen the first time we argued, or what she’d do if I lost my temper and raised my voice—and it was bound to happen at some point. When I fought with Linda it was a two-sided yelling match usually resolved when one of us—usually me-- would re-think the issue. Sort of a one and done deal.

Mulling those thoughts over I moved to the living room, glancing around. As I did so, I heard a car pull up and peeked out the window to see my sweetie had returned. Met her at the car and without taking my eyes off her, said, “You were right.”

She looked me over and gave one slow nod. “Didn’t like everything, did you?”

“No. But it makes me love you even more,” I told her. “Mind you, I want to hear about some of it though.”

“I bet,” she dimpled a smile. “Help me bring in these groceries and I’ll answer your questions.”

As we put things away, Simone told me about working with Marcus (“a real sweetie; the three of us did a lot of kid’s parties around Vegas.”) and the Dominion (“I worked the switchboard and directed calls; they talked me into the photo because I looked cute on that crazy sofa.”) but by the time I mentioned the photo album, she looked a little sad.

“Yeah I saved those photos to remind myself of where I’ve been and what I’ve come through,” Simone admitted. “It’s important to remember the good and the bad. I need to add some photos of New Orleans to it some point soon.”

I finished tucking the carton of eggs into the fridge before pulling her lightly into my arms. “That last one . . .” I began.

Simone lifted her chin. “First time he hit me. I needed to study; he was attending a party and insisted I be there. We argued and he got angry. Hugo shoved me against one of the bookcases to make his point. I couldn’t go to his fancy dinner with a black eye so I got to work on my anatomy homework, but I took the picture so I wouldn’t forget.”

She said it so simply, but I felt her tremble, and hugged her a little more tightly. “I’m so sorry, minou.”

“Don’t be,” she replied. “He’s dead and I’m still here. I won.”

\--oo00oo—

Simone cooked while I supervised; the Andouille turned out perfectly. It was interesting to watch her tackle a main dish—she fretted a little but I encouraged her and it all went well.

After dinner I stacked the dishwasher and set it to run, feeling a tingle of anticipation as Simone poured tiny glasses of crème de menthe and waved me to the back yard. I followed her and we settled on the porch glider, catching a cool breeze in the twilight.

“Soooo,” Simone began, her voice a little nervous. “I don’t think my photo album was the _only_ thing you found.”

“Nope,” I replied. I didn’t say more, enjoying a chance to tease her a little bit.

She shifted on the glider and took a quick gulp of the liqueur. “And you don’t have any . . . questions?”

I pretended to consider this, taking a slow sip myself, and enjoying the burn of the crème de menthe. “Wellll maybe one,” I admitted.

Simone turned to look at me, eyes big in the twilight. “Yes?”

“Honey, if you wanted me to cook in the nude, you should have just _asked_ ,” I told her. “Didn’t have to try and make me jealous.”

She burst out laughing, nearly dropping her glass and I grinned, feeling a rush of delight at her response. I know she wasn’t expecting that, and at the same time it was an easy way to show her I had looked in the nightstand drawer. 

“H-hasn’t worked yet,” Simone replied with a little sass. “What does a woman have to do around here to get you out of your clothes, Dwayne Pride?”

“I’m particular about who I divest with these days,” replied, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Mostly though, all you have to do is say so. I’m pretty easy when it comes to you, _mon ange._ ”

“The _big_ easy?” she batted her eyes while I snorted. Luckily I didn’t have a mouthful of liqueur at the time because that would have stung like hell. I felt her hand slide up my thigh in a sweet tease; my body responded right quick. 

“Easy, yes,” I assured her. “Big is . . . subjective.”

“Oh, you’re big,” Simone snickered. “Being on the receiving end I assure you that you are _damned_ big.”

“Flattery like that will get you laid,” I nuzzled her hair, enjoying the sensation of her hand sliding to my groin. Felt like a teenager making out here in the semi-darkness, especially when Simone kissed me, her mint-flavored tongue teasing mine. Her fingers started circling against my fly and I gave a little shudder of pleasure at her touch. “Are you trying to tell me something here?”

“Yes,” she purred against my mouth. “I’m shamelessly teasing an invalid into letting me have my way with him. Is it working?”

“Yep.”

We kept kissing, getting a lot more sensual about it, with nibbles and nips. I loved taking possession of her mouth because it was so hot and lush. I’ve kissed a fair share of women--I can’t lie about that—but Simone was always delicious; always desirable. A possessive little spark in me never wanted to make sure no other man but me ever kissed her again, but I pushed the thought aside and concentrated on what we were doing.

“Ohh, I’m getting dizzy!” she giggled, her hand cupping my cheek. “I think we should take this inside, yes?”

“We’ll shock the neighbors another time,” I agreed and followed her back into the house to the bedroom. Between the single pain med and the small glass I was feeling mellow but also hungry for Simone. We’d lost time between the holiday and the incident in the bayou; I wanted my luscious _ange_ very much.

She still wanted to take care of me but I caught her hands and shook my head; tonight I wanted to undress her myself. Simone gave in, letting me slide her sweater off, and undo her skirt, my touch only a little hampered by the bandage. When I got to her lingerie she giggled, allowing herself to be stripped of it, hands shyly covering her chest and the space between her hips.

“Show me,” I murmured, urging her to shift her hands and preen a bit. Simone pouted but did so, shooting me a lusty glance as she posed for me. “I’m not a model.”

“You are beautiful and I want you very much,” I told her, running my palms over her bare skin, savoring the hot velvet of it under my fingertips. “I want to hold you, feel your heartbeat, lie with you, fill you with children,” I whispered. “Make you as much mine as I am yours, Simone.”

She looked up at me, breathing a little more quickly now. “I want you,” Simone murmured. “Deep in me, under me, over me, Dwayne. Please . . .”

I let her undress me, and we slid onto the quilt, skin to skin in the semi-darkness, kissing each other with a sweet intensity that liquefied my heart. Her hands stroked my shoulders and spine, nails raking my ass in a tease that had me throbbing against her thigh. Both of us were breathing hard now, nipping and kissing; moving together and entangled. I ached for her. 

“Sweetheart . . .”

“Yes,” she moaned. “yes, no more teasing. Please--” Simone rolled her hips up and reached for me, shifting to align us. I drove myself into her, the slick heat of her body so good I groaned with pleasure.

There’s a slow rhythm that happens when you’re in love, a complete synchronization between your body and hers, a sort of powerhouse of love and lust and honesty that’s damned overwhelming at times. There’d be time for all the other variations of sex out there: we’d find time to be dirty and silly and kinky sure, but right now was about pouring my soul into Simone’s; about showing her how damned much I adored her.

Every stroke into the silky squeeze of her body torqued the tension higher for me, and right when I was about to pass that unbearably sweet moment of no return, Simone tensed under me, her long low growl of pleasure rasping in my ear. “My God I _love_ you Dwayyyyyne!”

Oh that did it for me; I came then in a rush of sweet desperation, kissing the tears from her face and vowing to myself that she’d be mine forever.


	27. Chapter 27

I’m not one to brag, but it was a busy weekend. I discovered several things about the Gentilly house I liked. One was that the counters in the kitchen were a little lower than average, which made them the perfect height to set my sweetie on and enjoy some morning romance. The kitchen had always been one of my favorite places; now it had the added enticement of breakfast nookie as it were. 

We filled out the partnership paperwork, and I was impressed with how seriously Simone took everything. She laid out all the assets she had and not only did it include part of a vineyard, but also real estate in Las Vegas, a timeshare in Hawaii and a stock portfolio that made my head swim.

“Uncles,” she sighed. “My mother never remarried but she had a lot of . . . boyfriends. Some were a disaster but there were a few who were nice to me and gave me good advice. I always liked Howard, who was a commodities broker, and Irving, who handled properties. Even as a kid I asked the right questions and got answers from those two. They both showed up for mom’s funeral.”

I nodded. “What about your father?”

She looked up from the files, her eyes a little wounded. “All I have is a first name: Alistair. My mother never told me anything about him but that, and the fact that they couldn’t marry. After she died I searched all her possessions, contacted the few relatives still alive in Paris but nothing.”

I reached over to cup her cheek, feeling a sense of sorrow. I might not be thrilled with my own father--Lord knows he’d done enough to deserve being cut out of my life—but at least I’d known him and had him when I was growing up. “Sounds like a British name.”

“My thought too, but even that’s just an assumption,” Simone sighed. “So while I know about my health history on my mother’s side, I know nothing about his side.”

“Did she ever say why they couldn’t marry?”

Simone gave a weary shrug. “No. Maybe he was already married; maybe they were different religions; maybe, maybe, maybe. I’ve got _nothing_ on that front, Dwayne.”

I knew better than to push, but now I was curious and made a mental note to see if I could find out anything at work. We had pretty extensive databases we could tap into through Interpol and it was a first step.

On my own side I had some investments too: the bar for one, and I had money set aside in various trust funds. I was sharing one with Loretta for the boys of course, and a big chunk was for Laurel and her studies, but I had some in salted away in a Wall Street commodities that was doing well and I had a few shares in local businesses in New Orleans.

Between us we were well-off for the moment and that made me feel a little better about the future. Any child of ours would be taken care of, financially. I asked her about guardians as well, figuring it would be smart to cover our bases.

“Loretta comes to mind,” Simone admitted, “Although I do have an elderly uncle in Paris. And there’s my lawyer, Desmond.”

“You have a lawyer?” I asked, kinda surprised.

“Yes,” she smiled. “Another ‘uncle’ so to speak. He’s based in Lake Mead but he’s in charge of my will among other things. We can talk to him about setting things up if you like—he’s nearly eighty and doesn’t practice much anymore but he’ll do it as a favor for me.”

“Sounds good,” I agreed. “I suppose we can get all this filed on Monday. In the meantime I need to stop in at the bar, and I’ve got a hankering for some chili.”

\--oo00oo—

That Monday Simone went back to work and I forced myself to work on back files, taking a break every now and then to stretch. About mid-day I got an email from the clinic. I opened it to find the analysis of my semen sample. Apparently I was plenty potent: four hundred and fifty million sperm per milliliter, which had me blushing even as I grinned. The note added that I was in excellent health for my age group which was nice to know as well.

Nothing like confirmation of your virility to put a good spin on your day.

About mid-morning the doorbell rang and I sent to answer it only to find Laurel standing there looking a little awkward.

“Went to see you but they told me you were out here?” she murmured, glancing around.

“Yeah, Simone wanted to keep an eye on me—apparently I’m a grouchy invalid,” I pointed out, earning a grin from my daughter.

“No surprise there.”

I gave her a hug and ushered her inside. Laurel was clearly curious and it was kind of fun to have the tables turned. We naturally moved to the kitchen and I offered her some coffee, which she accepted.

“So . . . you’re living here now?” she wanted to know.

“Well . . . part-time,” I replied, pouring my own cup. “At least until I’m cleared to return to duty.”

“How’s the arm?”

“Good,” I told her. “I’m too old and mean to die by snakebite.”

“To die period,” Laurel teased, but her expression shifted to a more serious one. “Seriously Dad I was worried.”

“I appreciate that but I’m fine,” I assured her between sips. “Minimum venom, quick intervention.”

Laurel nodded, and glanced around again. “And you’ve got Simone.”

“And _you_ ,” I pointed out. “Along with my team. All of you are damned important to me.” I understood her unspoken concern—that she was being replaced in my affections—so I cleared my throat. “You’re _always_ going to be my daughter, honey. Time and tide will _never_ change that.”

I set my mug down and gathered her into my arms, trying to hug away her concerns. Laurel hugged me back for a long moment. When she finally looked up at me I saw her expression relax a bit. “Okay then,” she smiled. “I just . . . kind of _needed_ that, I guess.”

“S’okay,” I nodded. “Yeah a few things are changing but not you and me. You’re _always_ gonna be my firstborn.”

The minute I said that, I regretted it. Laurel got that brightly speculative look in her eyes; the one Linda used to get when she heard more than I meant to say. 

“Firstborn?” she repeated, looking perky. “Daaaddddd?”

“More coffee?” I tried to change the conversation but my daughter wasn’t having it, and grinned in my face.  
“Seriously? Are you and Simone . . . planning something?”

“This is _not_ a line of questioning I’m comfortable with,” I protested. “You certainly wouldn’t take it from ME. How’s Orion by the way?”

She made a face. “He’s at cruller camp for the week, learning about choux dough. Come on Dad—are you guys going to get married? Maybe have a baby?”

“You mean same as _you_ , eventually?” I countered, watching my daughter roll her eyes.

“You know what’s suspicious? The fact that you’re not flat-out _denying_ it,” Laurel smirked.

“Wouldn’t hold up in a court of law,” I replied confidently. “It’s called a private life for a _reason_ , Laurel Marie. Besides, aren’t _you_ trouble enough?”

“More than,” she agreed, “but a baby would be so cool. I’d be a big sister and I’d get to babysit and play with it without being totally responsible for a little person twenty-four seven.”

“Oh yeah, those are sure compelling arguments,” I snorted.

She gave a shrug, and this time her smile was a little more gentle. “You’re a great dad . . . I’m willing to share you with another little Pride is all I’m saying.”

I blushed a little, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate that.”

We talked about her classes and the big composition project she had coming up for the rest of her visit. After she’d driven off, I thought about her words and took a little comfort—if Laurel was on-board, it might be easier to break the eventual plan to the others.

I had another visitor just after noon—Christopher stopped by, bringing po’boys from Chicory Sam’s.

“Figured you’d appreciate some delivery service, King!” he called to me from the car. I came down the porch steps and took the bag, pleased to see him and lunch at the same time. We settled in on the back porch on the glider and I saw LaSalle noticing all the home improvement projects as he ate.

“Been busy,” he commented with a grin.

“Keeps me out of the pool halls.”

“I bet,” LaSalle countered. “How’s the arm?”

“Aches a little,” I admitted. “Not too bad though. I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

“Good. ‘Cause we’re slackin’ something awful,” he teased. “Lollygaggin’ surfin’ the internet, generally goofin’ off.”

“So the usual,” I shot him a grin. “What have you been doing?”

He caught me up on the two cases he and Gregorio were dealing with, asking for suggestions on dealing with local jurisdiction out in Alabama. We hashed out the rest of the week’s schedule and cleaned up our lunches when he gave one last look at the yard.

“Looks like a good fit for you,” he murmured. “A real good fit.”

I gave a nod. “Workin’ out so far. I’m taking it one day at a time.”

“So what’s the next step? A ring? Or are you two gonna e-lope?”

“I’m not the E-lopin’ type,” I protested, shooting him a dry look that he totally ignored.

“Hard to tell,” he flashed his teeth at me. “Sometimes you’re by the book and sometimes you’re off the chain, King.”

“Part of my many charms,” I countered, “Is keeping people on their _toes_ , Christopher."

“Whatever. Far as I can see there’s a beauty tamin’ a beast around here.”

“Yeah? Well just for that, I’m gonna tell Simone you called her a beast,” I threatened as he pulled out of the driveway, laughing.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a little late; but it's up now! :)

With Christmas only a couple of weeks away, things started getting festive everywhere. When I got back to work the lights were up, the decorations out, and the music going. Put me in a good mood, right up until I spotted the email that had the subject title: MANDATORY.

Nothing gets my goat faster than that particular word. I opened it, dreading what I would find, and discovered it was the official invitation to the city’s Noël Ball, complete with note from Admiral Charles making it clear that imminent death would be the only alternative to not attending the event. I balked for a moment, but then it dawned on me that one of the best ways to make it worthwhile would be to take Simone.

It would be our first official date, and a nice opportunity to show her how New Orleans throws a holiday party. Quickly I texted her:

//Doing anything on the evening of the 19th, ma cher?//

Her reply came back a moment later.  
//Nothing particular, although I was thinking of getting us a Christmas tree. Why?//

//Better plan. I have to go to the Noël Ball and I want to bring you. Are you free?//

I got a string of surprise/heart emojis to that, so I guessed she was good with the idea, but I texted, //English please, yes or no?//

//YES. How formal?//

//Very. Ask Loretta since she’ll be there too. Full monkey suit for me, alas.//

//Oh my. I LOVE me a well-dressed man.// Simone texted back and I grinned.

\--oo00oo—

I’ve been to a lot of parties in my time. Been to a lot of holiday ones as well, but there’s something about Christmas in particular that touches me. Part of it is the joyousness of it all I guess. This city knows how to put up lights and play music for any occasion, but Christmas here is unlike any other place in the world.

It’s also because it’s a time for family. Mardi Gras is about going wild, as is Saint Patrick’s day. Valentine’s day is fun if you’ve got a sweetheart and a real pain if you don’t. The Fourth of July is a time to be patriotic and play with fire, as LaSalle would say, and Thanksgiving pulls all sorts of people together in gratitude, but Christmas has its own sweet blend of spirituality and joy. I’ve always loved Christmas.

I managed to get myself dressed and my bow tie tied before I was out the door in good time the evening of the nineteenth, heading out to pick up Simone. Traffic was reasonable, and while it was cool out, the evening skies were clear enough for some of the first stars to be showing. On the passenger seat I had the clear plastic box from the florist with Simone’s holiday corsage in it—pretty red carnations with flecks of silver glitter on them wrapped in mistletoe and baby’s breath.

The Ball was being held onboard the Creole King, a huge paddlewheeler that was more of a floating hotel than anything else and not only did it have three ballrooms, it also had guest rooms as well. I’d booked one for us, figuring it would be safer and easier to stay the night than try to drive home in the wee hours of the morning. Also meant sleeping on the water which is always sort of romantic. I’d nabbed one of the last fancy state rooms in fact, which was a good sign. Had an overnight bag in the car.

Once I got to the house in Gentilly, I debated on whether to knock or just let myself in, and finally rang the bell, figuring if it was an official date, I could follow the rules. I didn’t wait long; Simone answered it and looking at her I was suddenly a little breathless at how gorgeous my baby was.

She had on a full length dress in green velvet with a shimmery frost to it, but what caught my attention was the curving neckline that showed off her fine cleavage. All those sweet freckles just begging me to kiss them . . . I blinked a little, kinda dazed.

“Stunned,” Simone giggled. “There’s a first, even if you have seen my chest before.”

“Not showcased like _this_ ,” I protested, finally looking up into her face. “You are flaunting a lot of temptation right there you know.”

She glanced down at herself. “Really? I thought it was reasonable.”

I thought about who would be at the ball, who would be getting an eyeful of my sweetie’s better features and winced a little. “It’s gonna make you popular,” I conceded, and Simone giggled.

“Well you look extremely handsome yourself.”

“Thank you,” I smiled as I handed over the corsage and it was a hit; Simone blushed as she took it out of the box, gazing at in wonder. “You remembered!”

“You didn’t think I would?” I teased her as I helped to pin it on. Gave me a reason to graze my knuckles along her warm chest. 

Simone fluttered her lashes at me. “The fact that you did is very sweet my love. Thank you.”

I collected her overnight bag and tucked it with mine in the trunk. We chatted during the drive over; I told her who she might end up meeting and who might be there.

“The Admiral of course and a lot of top brass from all the military branches,” I explained. “Along with the civic leaders—city officials, a lot of the business CEOs and the new mayor.” 

Thank God it wasn’t Hamilton anymore; if Douglas ever so much as smiled at Simone I would have to punch his expensive veneered teeth out.

“Who else? I know Loretta will be there.”

“We all got invitations--- but mine was the only _mandatory_ one,” I grumbled, and she laughed.

“We’ll have a nice time,” Simone assured me. “And we can always leave early if you’d like—I’m not always the life of the party you know.”

“That’s fine,” I agreed. “Especially since it’s just a matter of going to the other end of ship.”

We got there, handed off the car to the valet, had the bags sent to our room, and I escorted her up the ramp, both of us admiring the way the entire ship was decked out with lights. I heard some jazz drifting out from somewhere so we went to find the source. 

The third level ballroom had fifteen foot decorated Christmas trees in each corner—real ones given the scent of pine—and a nice little quartet near the back of the room. It was too early for dancing, but waiters with trays of champagne and canapés were circling around, making sure we were all wined and dined as the musicians played carols. 

I saw a lot of people I knew, including Linda and her new husband, who came over and made polite, slightly awkward conversation with us for about a minute before drifting away again. I DID get an approving nod from Linda though, which amused me, and I wondered if Laurel had briefed my ex about Simone, and what exactly she’d said.

I felt a hand slide into mine and looked at the woman next to me, who was trembling a little so I squeezed her fingers reassuringly. 

“Who’s the man with the fierce eyebrows?”

I looked where Simone was pointing. “I think that’s Claude Thibodaux. Some sort of famous local fishman around these parts,” I told her.

“Ah. And that lady with the really, um, big, tall . . .”

I tried not to laugh. “Yeah that’s quite a hairdo. Not sure who she is or how she gets through doorways.”

Simone shook her head and was about to ask another question when I heard someone approaching us. 

“Simone!” the voice rumbled. “Good lord! What are YOU doing here?”

The hand in mine suddenly tightened hard and I tried not to wince as I noted at the man standing before us.

Tall and sort of patrician, with high cheekbones. He looked like old money and was dressed to the nines in a tux that had been tailored for him that was clear. He only gave me a quick look before refocusing on Simone, who had gone pale.

“Gordon,” she murmured, forcing her tone to be polite. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Looking into investments as usual,” he offered impatiently and reached out. I didn’t know if he was trying to take her fingers or touch her shoulder but I wasn’t having either and took a step forward, jabbing my hand at him.

“Dwayne Pride, sir, and you are?” I let the question make it clear he was gonna have to go through me to talk to Simone.

He finally looked down his nose at me. “Gordon Von Eck,” he muttered, reluctantly taking my hand. 

Dry hard grip, no calluses. In shape but rich—I could take him if I had to.

“Gordon was . . . an old friend of Hugo’s,” Simone told me in a shaky little voice. “One of his patrons.”

And just like _that_ , he was at the top of my shit list.

“The last time I saw you was at Hugo’s funeral,” Gordon commented, smirking. “Quite a disaster; I don’t blame you for wanting to leave after that fiasco. Does Henri know you’re here?”

I didn’t like the sound of this conversation; I didn’t like how upset Simone looked and I sure as HELL didn’t like the fact that Gordon Von Eck was smiling so I cleared my throat.

Simone squeezed my fingers and spoke up, her voice a lot smoother. “I don’t know and I don’t care, Gordon. I’m out of it. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe Dwayne was going to introduce me to the Admiral.”

I gave Von Eck a look that let him know I had him in my sights. “Enjoy the party,” I muttered without meaning a damned word of it. I steered Simone away and across the room, the two of us slipping through the crowd until we reached the far side, and the bar. I looked at her; she took a breath.

“Odious man,” she spat out. “He’s a snob, a misogynist, and a letch. Out of all the people I knew in Las Vegas, why did HE have to be the one I run into again?”

I made a face. “I guess we all have our nemeses, mon ange. Is he gonna be a problem? Because I’d be more than happy to take care of him for you.”

“Thank you, but he’s a coward at heart,” Simone assured me. “The best thing is to ignore him.”

I nodded and accepted two flutes of champagne, handing one to her. “So who’s Henri?”

Simone took a sip before answering. “Hugo’s younger brother. He tried to contest the will and lost. Tried to shoot me at the funeral.”

“What the HELL?” I blurted, making the folks nearest us stop talking and stare. 

Simone took my arm, and smiled sweetly, tugging me out through the glass doors to the deck.

“Dwayne! He missed, as you can see, and got arrested for it. Really, you’re overreacting. Loretta tells me people shoot at YOU all the time!” Simone gave an exasperated chuff.

“Honey, that’s part of my damn job! You’re a coroner; nobody’s supposed to try and kill YOU!” I growled back, feeling surges of anger, confusion and yes, a little humor bubbling up through me. In the glow of the holiday lights Simone looked gorgeous as she smiled.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry,” she told me. “Scary, but sexy.”


	29. Chapter 29

“Don’t try and distract me,” I grumbled, a little bit soothed by her expression. “Talk to me: what happened?”

She leaned on the rail, looking out over the river. “Not much to tell. Hugo left me everything in his will. He changed it when we first got married, probably thinking we’d have children and they would inherit his copyrights and libraries along with a few other family heirlooms.”

“And instead _you_ did,” I guessed. “Which pissed Henri off.”

“Yeah,” Simone agreed. “I have the exclusive rights to re-print The Unseen Tribes and A Study of Arcane Lovestyles. They’re considered classics for certain psychology and human sexuality classes so they make steady money. Not a lot, but enough for Henri to want the rights. He also knows Hugo had some very rare books that would be worth money as well.”

“Enough to try and shoot you?” I growled, sliding an arm around her at the rail. 

She shrugged. “Henri goes in and out of debt. He didn’t really want to shoot me—he was trying to intimidate me and the damned gun went off. It scared the shit out of him.” 

I shook my head. “Still . . . you think Von Eck’s gonna tell him where you are?” 

For the first time Simone looked troubled. “Probably,” she sighed. “Damn. I really just . . . wanted to leave it all behind. Yes I could give Henri the rights and the books but he’s the sort that would never believe I’d turned all of it over, you know?” 

“Yes,” I tightened my arm around her. “I do. The desperate and the greedy are like that the world over.” 

She leaned her head to my shoulder, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry he’s put a damper on this evening." 

“Oh the night’s not a total loss,” I assured Simone. “Still lots of fun to be had. What would you like to do, _mon ange?_ Walk the deck, visit folks, maybe hit the buffet line?” 

“All of it?” she replied with a smile, so we did. 

By the time ten o’clock rolled around we were both ready to call it a night. The party would keep going until the wee hours, but both of us were tired of being on our feet and looking forward to some time together. We slipped out and strolled down to our stateroom which was on the second level, right at the back—the quiet end of the ship. 

Simone sighed with pleasure when we stepped inside the cozy suite. Polished hardwood floor, big bed covered in a lacy quilt with a flock of matching pillows, and of course, a private little veranda that overlooked the river. “Oh Dwayne it’s utterly charming!” 

Our suitcases were neatly stacked on the rack in the closet and I was pleased to see that the management had included a split of champagne on crushed ice that was now mostly cold water. I put my arms around Simone and kissed her chin, working my way to her pretty mouth. 

“Would you undo my zipper please?” she asked me in a husky tone. 

I found the little tab and pulled it down, the growl of it sounding sexy. Simone stepped back and shimmied out of her dress, peeling it down from her shoulders to her hips, stepping out of it while I gave a groan. 

More fancy lingerie of course. White satin, with spangles in Christmas colors of red and green through the bra, panties and garterbelt, which was holding up her peppermint striped stockings. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a holiday present like this but I wasn’t complaining. 

And I couldn’t wait to unwrap it. 

Simone undid my bow tie and worked the studs loose on my shirt, catching them and kissing me each time she did, giggling against my lips. Maybe the giggles were because I was grabbing her ass; either way I didn’t mind at all. She ground against me, wrinkling her nose. “My, _you_ seem to be happy to see me.” 

“Want to see a lot _more_ of you,” I assured her, licking her neck. One little thing I appreciated was that she put her perfume at her temples instead of her throat; nothing kills a kiss like the taste of alcohol and floral spray. I made it down to her collarbones and slid my fingers under the lacy straps of her brassiere, pulling them down each shoulder. 

Simone gave me a warm-eyed look. “Pour me some champagne and I’ll let you take off the rest of this finery, Mr. Pride.” 

“An offer I cannot, _will_ not refuse.” Reluctantly I reached for the small bottle and opened it, pouring out the two glasses it held and brought her one. Simone sipped it, tipping her head back so I could see the long line of her neck, and how the bra was starting to slip down. Glorious sight and I helped it along, flicking the hooks in the back and tugging it off. 

Simone giggled, one hand across her chest as she took another sip of the champagne. “I believe you’re ogling me.” 

“That I am, _ma cher_ ,” I rumbled and after a good swig of my own glass, I pulled her back into my arms and dragged kisses all the way up the perky slope of each breast, setting my teeth around each nipple and making Simone give a squeal of pleasure. She ran her hands through my hair as she shuddered. 

“That’s just evil,” she breathed. “Wonderful and evil at the same time!” 

I spun her around, dancing her over to the bed, and dropped her on it, looming over Simone for a moment, just taking in the sight of her sprawled there, bright-eyed and sweet. 

“I will remember the way you look right now,” I told her softly, “for _always_ , Simone.” 

She reached up for the ends of my dangling bow tie and pulled me down into a kiss, our tongues flirting. I broke away a little dazed, and reached along her hips, catching the thin straps of her panties, tugging them down and off, leaving her in the garterbelt and peppermint stockings. 

I trailed my fingers back up, sliding them to the ticklish insides of her knees. _“Je veux te manger,”_ I told her and pressed them open. 

Oh that glorious garden of dark glossy curls . . . this warm sweet utterly gorgeous box of Simone’s made me throb and ache. I kissed her mound, and slid my tongue through the glaze that wetted her seam. 

I licked, I suckled, I kissed every luscious inch of her, working my way around the stiff little nub of her clit, enjoying her shivers and gasps as I finally began to caress it. Minutes later I felt her come and let her pull my hair, riding out her frantic cries until she slumped a bit, and then rose up, my mouth still slick but smiling. 

Simone sighed and sat up, reaching for my very tented fly. “Shall I return the favor, or would you like me on my hands and knees, darling?” 

I drew in a shaky breath. “Roll over,” I told her, and she did, flaunting her ass at me, framed as it was in the garter belt. 

Simone looked over her shoulder. “Hard,” she told me, hunger in her voice. “I can take it, I _want_ it, Dwayne. Please!” 

I shoved my dress slacks and boxers off, pressing up close to the heat of Simone’s thighs, and guided my impatient cock between the slick edges of her seam. I thrust. 

She gave a low cry, and rocked back, impaling herself on me and I pushed forward, burying myself in her, caught in the heat and squeeze. 

We found our rhythm and a few strokes in, Simone called out, “Oh God, the _mirror_ . . .” 

The mirror in the corner showed a reflection of us in all our raw pleasure: Simone panting, big chest bouncing against the pillows and my hands around her hips as I drove into her, my shirt open, my expression fierce. It was unbearably erotic, especially seeing Simone slowly building to a second climax. I tried to hold out, and just as I started to come, she did too, shaking hard under me, riding my rush of pleasure with her own. 

I collapsed on top of her, utterly spent and supremely satisfied. “I’m pretty sure _that_ one took,” I told her, and under me, Simone giggled. 

\--oo00oo— 

We slept in, curled up together under the puffy coverlet, savoring the kiss of skin to skin. These were the sorts of memories I loved making, the sorts that would get me through harder times. Nothing as tender as being in love I suppose. 

By the time we both were awake in the grey morning light, Simone was asking me what I wanted from room service. 

“Coffee,” I yawned. “First and foremost. What else looks good to you?” 

“Waffles,” she replied. “And bacon. Ooh, we can eat on the veranda!” 

And we did once the order arrived, looking out over the river. Gulls wheeled overhead and I heard the slow stir of business starting up along the waterfront. I needed to check in later in the day, but other than that there was no pressing business and I asked Simone if she wanted to get a tree. 

“Yes, that would be wonderful. I have a box of ornaments from Las Vegas but not . . . ohhhh,” she stopped, looking pale. “Um, excuse me . . .” Quickly she got up and darted back into the room. I watched her go, feeling a sense of unease. Moments later I heard her retching through the thin door of the bathroom. 

That’s when I knew. 

I got up and went inside, feeling a little dazed, leaning against the doorframe as I heard the toilet flush and the water run. When Simone finally opened the door she looked up at me, her expression twisted between hope and surprise. “Dwayne . . .” 

I reached for her, took her into my arms, feeling her curvy frame cling to me. “The tree can wait. I think we need to stop by a drugstore for a test, sweetheart.” 

Her arms tightened around me and we stood holding each other for a long time. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the epilogue for this particular story. I hope to continue on if people let me know they'd like more, and thanks for reading it!

We packed up, checked out, and I drove to the first place I could think of that would have what we needed: the closest drugstore. Simone and I picked up two tests and a bottle of water. I handed it to her with a grin.

“Drink up.”

She made a face at me but once I’d paid for everything, she opened it and started sipping for the rest of the ride home.

We didn’t talk—both of us were so hopeful and afraid of breaking the spell I guess. The idea that this really could be what we’d been wishing for . . . .

When we got to the house in Gentilly, Simone finished the bottle and gave me an embarrassed look. “So while we’re waiting . . . whatever happens, we’re going to be fine. It could be nothing—a touch of flu, a bad canapé from the party.”

“I know,” I reassured her. “Those occurred to me too, but whatever else, it was an amazing night with you Simone. To be honest, I’m thinking of getting us a full-length mirror.”

That made her blush, and she buried her face against my shoulder, giggling a little. “You wouldn’t!”

“Be a pretty good Christmas gift,” I pointed out, grinning.

“You’re incorrigible,” she murmured. “Okay, I’m going to go . . . test, and we’ll see how things stand.”

I watched her walk over to the bathroom and the temptation to hang around the door was strong, but I held off so she wouldn’t be intimidated. Still, I won’t deny I was pretty nervous, and paced in the living room, trying to calm down. 

Fatherhood. I was excited about a second go-round for the whole concept even though my pragmatic heart knew it might be a false alarm. We still didn’t have a report in about Simone’s fertility even though she was tracking her cycles, and in any case we were due to see Doctor Petrowski in a few days’ time.

I looked out through the windows to the back yard, imagining a swing set out there.

The bathroom door opened and I moved to it as Simone came out, her gaze bright. She held out the test to me and I took it, staring at the two lines forming the + sign in the little window.

Plus. As in, positive.

Pregnant.

I started hyperventilating a little, throwing my arms around Simone, who clung to me just as tightly. We didn’t say anything; we didn’t have to; the little test kinda said it all.

Somehow we made it over to the sofa and collapsed on it, me pulling Simone into my lap still holding her as close as possible while she trembled. 

“Dwayne . . . thank you,” she whispered to me. “The best Christmas gift of all!”

She was crying and damn it I was too, feeling every emotion under the sun but the strongest was joy, plain and simple. Outright joy.

“Thank you right back, Simone. I love you,” I managed to get out before I kissed her, trying to put into action what my words just couldn’t get across. And of course she kissed me back, both of us curled up together trying to ride out the emotion of the moment.

“Ohhh I am so not ready for this,” she giggled. “I mean I AM and I’ve been preparing but it really hits you hard when it happens, you know?”

“It’s big,” I agreed with a laugh of my own.

She looked at me. “When Linda found out, how did she tell you?”

I thought back. “Over dinner. I’d just told her about this big involved case I was on, and sort of dominated the conversation. When I got to the end of it and asked her how her day was, she said, “Not bad for my first month of pregnancy.”

Simone laughed. “Oh that’s priceless!”

“Shut me up for a few seconds,” I admitted with a little wince. “But we both were excited and since Laurel was the result it’s all good.”

“Yeah,” Simone agreed. “Okay, we need to make a list.”

“Of?”

“Everything. What to do; who to see; what to buy; and, and . . . Anything else we haven’t thought of,” she finished in a rush. 

“Well seeing Doctor Petrowski would be top of the list,” I reminded her. “We also need to figure out how far along you are—after all, we’ve been makin’ love a lot and any _one_ of those times could be the conception point.”

“They ALL are as far as I’m concerned,” Simone told me sweetly. “Every single one of them.”

“Flatterer,” I replied, feeling myself blush. “In any case, this changes pretty much everything. We’ve got a timeline now; need to get things moving, so the list is a great idea. Simone . . .” I hesitated, and she held my gaze as I worked up the courage to continue. 

“The reason Linda wanted a divorce—the primary reason—was fear about my work. How do you feel about it? I mean now that we’re expecting a baby? Be honest with me on this, ma cher.”

Simone took a deep breath, and looked around before she spoke up. “Dwayne, the true reason Linda wanted a divorce is because her feelings for you changed. The fear about your work was her white lie.”

I stared at Simone and she blinked; I could tell she was trying not to get emotional as she continued. “Think about it. If your work really, truly frightened her, she would have left you when Laurel was little, not _after_ she was all grown up. It would have been much more frightening to become a widow with a young child than a widow with an adult child.”

It hit me that Simone was right, and worse, some part of me deep inside had already known it too. She touched my cheek with her warm fingers. “I’m sorry. She didn’t want to hurt you so she gave you an easy excuse.”

“That . . . makes sense,” I admitted, feeling a pang of sorrow. “Damn it.”

“Hard,” Simone agreed, “but I will always be honest with you, even if it hurts. Yes, I worry about you doing your job but it’s your chosen career and a part of who you are, Dwayne. You . . . _need_ to do it. It helps channel your aggression and you’re very good at it. If you want to . . . retire, or go into a different line of work, that’s up to you, Darling. I accepted the risk when I first fell in love with you.”

I looked at her. _Really_ looked at her, studying a face that had become precious to me from those big sage-colored eyes to that sweet little smile. “Good lord, how did I ever deserve you?” I murmured, and pulled her to me for a kiss. Sweet and soft; tenderness personified.

She held me tight when we broke apart, and gave a little sigh of satisfaction. “I was wondering the same thing. About _you_ that is, not about you deserving me. So . . . we need to unpack, and start making a list. And Dwayne?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going to be an amazing new year. Thank you!”

 

end (of part one?)


End file.
